


Roar of the Bear

by Stormtide_Leviathan



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28877058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormtide_Leviathan/pseuds/Stormtide_Leviathan
Summary: A witcher at the turn of the 13th century sets to break away from his homeland in search of meaning beyond the stormy islands of Skellige. He may get more than what he asked for, as witcher work is dangerous even for the most prepared.Commissioned by Dev_Hoff.





	1. Humble Beginnings

Baer backed off the pedal on the grindstone, wiping sweat from his brow. The steel sword perched on top of the grindstone gleamed in the workshop's flickering torchlight like a sliver of the moon. He'd yet to name the blade or his silver sword, but they were sharp as could be and ready to taste battle.

A shining reflection off the blade blinked lightly, the young witcher seeing his face. Blood orange slitted back at him; the olive color in his cheeks were paler than he remembered, and his brown hair now nearly long enough to be tied. Despite the longer mane, the small horizontal scar across his nose remained. A small reminder of when young witchers don't aim a bow correctly the first time. There rarely is a second time.

_Junod's first orders after waking me from the trial are to sharpen my blades, not even get breakfast._ Baer hefted the steel sword, looking down the edge for any imperfections with a critical eye. _It'd be bad luck to already run out with a crooked blade._

The blades were nothing fancy or elegant; the way of the Bear witchers didn't have use for such frivolity. No embroidered grips, runic carvings, or magical glamour; not that Baer knew how to embellish a blade as such. A blade was an instrument of death and extension of the witcher's mercy, and enemies would soon know that the mercy of a Bear witcher teetered on a precarious edge between reason and ferocity.

Sliding his steel into a worn leather sheath, a hand-me-down from Junod, Baer rose to his feet and stretched his back. He'd spent nearly a month comatose since taking the trial of the grasses, and his body still felt still and rigid. He rotated his torso side to side, managing to hear a few satisfying pops from his back.

"Boy, you done in there?" A gruff voice roared from the entryway. _Junod of Belhaven._ He sounded like the man had a mouthful of gravel whenever he spoke-like a rock troll with an education of any sort.

"Just sharpened the last blade, master," Baer replied, his voice still hoarse and frail from unuse. It didn't match his imposing muscular physique that would make any drunken Skellige sailor think twice in a bar fight. "I'll be comin' out now."

"Ain't that a bloody miracle," Junod sighed. "Been waitin' ages on ye."

"I thought I was pretty fast," Baer said, narrowing his eyes as he walked toward the entryway and source of his master's voice. "Wasn't even an hour."

"Oh, 'wasn't even an hour' aye?" Junod snorted loudly. "I've known whores in Novigrad that could polish a knob in half the time. Now get on with ye, your foods' already cold."

Baer stepped up to the doorway, and Junod stood nearby, perched against the stone hallway with his arms crossed and dressed in his thick plated witcher armor. Junod had a beard to make any proud dwarf jealous and a scowl that could only be achieved through decades of practice; not to mention he was one of the few people Baer had to look _up to_ , with the burly witcher having giant's blood in his veins.

"Is the witch still here?" Baer asked, peeking down the hall and past his master. "I had questions for her."

Junod snorted and spit on the cold stone ground. "Sure ya did. Fat lot it'd do ya tryin' to talk with them folk. Threatened to curse me, that hateful wench did." Baer and Junod exchanged a tense look, and then Junod rolled his eyes. "She's long gone, lad. Left 'bout a fortnight ago. Good riddance I say."

Baer shrugged and trudged toward the kitchen area. Junod had decided to stay the winter two years ago in an abandoned guard outpost in the hills of Undvik, when nasty storms were wreaking havoc across the isles of Skellige. Baer had managed to impress the abrasive witcher with him fighting against a giant, and to his bewilderment, was offered a chance to join the ranks. He still didn't know if Junod had done it on a whim, for entertainment, or because he thought Baer had potential, but he had survived all the witcher's insane tests, including the most deadly; the trial of grasses.

Baer sat down at the splintering wooden table-a bowl of porridge in front of him, cold of course. Baer lifted a soggy spoonful and bit down on the slop. It was cold and felt like eating tripe. Junod was a terrible cook, but Baer ate dutifully. Nearly a month without food had drained any sense of pickiness from the young Skelligan.

"Eat up, you'll need your strength. The frost cleared up last week and the seas're clearing up." Junod sat down on the rickety wooden bench across from Baer, his hands tucked up underneath his armpits. "Your last task for becoming a witcher will be collecting enough money from contracts to get away from these damned rocks."

"What about my medallion?" Baer asked, looking at Junod's scuffed up Bear medallion hanging around his neck. "Don't I need one of those as, like, proof?"

"This thing?" Junod said, lifting the metallic piece. "You'd have to go to Haern Cudoch in the Amell mountains. Besides, you can probably find any one-off merchant if you cross paths with them. Hells, even taking down a lesser witcher will grant you one."

Baer's stomach turned. Unsure if it was from the porridge or that Junod suggested such a thing, he stopped eating and let out a soft breath. The Path wasn't meant to be easy, but it was better than being a nameless sailor like most of the men on Skellige. He would be able to see the world beyond the craggy shores of Ard Skellig, Undvik, and Spikeroog. The trial of the grasses ensured his survival, as he could already feel his body acclimating and recovering faster than ever before.

"Ight," Baer said, taking one last spoonful of his breakfast. "I think I can manage that. I take it you won't be comin' with me?"

"Got my own contract to fulfill from clan Brokvar. Something 'bout a ghost or somethin'." Junod rolled his shoulders and stroked his bristly bread, nodding thoughtfully. "Should be interestin' to say the least, though I fucking hate ghosts with a passion. Not meaty enough when ya slice into 'em." Junod sighed and stood up with a grunt. "But, the coin is there and I ain't to be ignoring that."

Baer nodded and stood up, meeting his mentor's beady-eyed gaze. "Alright, I suppose you don't 'ave a lead for me? Or am I to ask around the isles?" Baer chuckled. "A fresh eager looking witcher isn't probably going to fetch me a high price if I look desperate and whatnot."

"Bah, do I look like ye mother? Trying to nuzzle my tit?" Junod balked. He walked over to a cabinet and began to rifle through a mess of dry rations. "Eh, no matter. I heard of some issues on Ard Skellig. Runt from clan Craite came asking a few days ago. Trolls I think. Told him to piss off. Try your luck there, lad."

A faint smile graced Baer's pale lips, and he gave a slight nod. It wasn't much, but it did guarantee a chance for him to get some good work in, considering he now was a more appealing option than Junod. The only thing Junod had over him really was a lifetime of skills and a grander beard when compared to Baer's burgeoning goatee. Sounded like smooth sailing considering anything short of fighting a serpent or other submerged monstrosities. Swimming in traditional Bear gear was a pain, as he had learned from several cold lessons in the ocean.

_Ard Skellig,_ Baer thought as he walked toward his bunk room. _Felt like ages since I've set foot on the main island._

"One last thing," Junod grumbled from the kitchen. Baer paused and turned toward the elder witcher; a flagon of mead now clutched in Junod's giant paw of a hand. "Before you step out, stop by the lab. Some potions for your travels, considering you should be able to stomach them now without dyin'."

"Thank ye'," Baer said, nodding.

"Bah, don't be goin' soft on me, boy. Just take 'em and leave. I don't want to see your face til ya get yourself a successful contract." Junod took a large sip from the flagon. "And, welcome to The Path, boy. May you find what you need."

Baer marched into his room and shut the heavy wooden door promptly. _Was it always that easy to close?_ He let out a deep breath and took in the dim room; only a half-melted candle still lit from when he woke up not too long ago. Reaching under the bed, Baer pulled out a wooden chest banded with iron and quickly unlatched it. Inside, he found his Bear witcher armor, made from the schematics and Junod's memory.

The chest clicked open, and Baer pulled out the neatly folded heavy armor. Banded plates covered the biceps and forearms, and a sturdy steel chest plate interlaced with the thick leather gambeson stretched from the neck to the knees. The studded leather pants and steel boots to match the armor felt heavy and _right_.

A Bear witcher was meant to go into battle like a Shaelmaar-brutal, efficient, and bullish. This armor would be Baer's carapace, and a small smile graced his lips as he laid it out on his bed and began to get suited up. From throwing on the armor to strapping on his heavy water-proof boots, to finally sliding on the thick gloves, Baer felt complete. Armed to the teeth with two swords, armor that'd rival a rock troll's hide, and eyes of a beast. He was eager to get to work.

Baer suited up quickly yet carefully. He didn't want his first jaunt into the outside world as a witcher to be degraded by the mere chance of an armor mishap. At the bottom of the chest, Baer retrieved the last two items of importance; his leather journal holding various monster descriptions and concoction information and a sturdy hand crossbow with a dozen bolts.

_For a witcher that hates trinkets, Junod was rather adamant about me crafting this._ Baer hefted the crossbow into his hands, letting the device settle. He aimed down it, appreciating the craftsmanship he'd put in. _Well, I'm sure it'll come in handy._ Latching the ranged weapon to his waist, Baer stood up.

Walking back into the main room of the outpost, Baer paused for a moment. Junod was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, Baer made his way to the storage room that Junod had repurposed as a makeshift laboratory.

The laboratory smelled of sulfur, rotten flesh, and lavender. Baer's nose wrinkled at the latent fumes as he pushed the door open. Flexing his hand, Baer wiggled his fingers in the thick leather glove and performed the sign Igni, lighting a candle on the alchemist table.

Baer flexed his hand and grunted. _Even with the mutations, I can feel my hand cramp and my head swim a bit. Need to practice more._

Illuminated by the light, Baer noticed a few vials stocked up in a small bandolier atop the clean table. Baer hummed, noting that Junod had taken most of the reagents, as the entire place was chock full of various flora and monster bits just a month ago; now the lab looked hardly different than a raided cupboard.

"Well, he at least left me some vials, now let's see…" Baer picked up the first of five, and uncorked it quickly, giving the concoction a brief whiff. "Smells like Swallow. Never hear me complaining about heals."

Baer repeated the process on the next two, confirming he had been given two more doses of Swallow. A witcher would never complain about having too many healing concoctions, so Baer stowed them away happily. The other vials were a bit odd to Baer; one being a murky black tar-like substance-Black Blood, a vital aid for when facing vampiric threats- and then the last vial; a slimy brown liquid that smelled vaguely of cod liver oil.

"Killer Whale...surprised he left this one for me," Baer hummed as he stowed the vial. "Would have figured Thunderbolt or Blizzard would have been more useful, though I probably shouldn't doubt my mentor's wisdom."

Snuffing the candle flame and briskly walking out of the lab, Baer made his way towards the exit. He took in the last sights of the rundown outpost; Junod and he had never really cleaned the place up beside the workshop and the laboratory. Just enough to maintain a level of cleanliness that wasn't utter filth.

_I'm going to miss those late nights training,_ Baer thought as he put a hand on the large wooden door to the outside world. _I couldn't live with being another sailor. With nothing tying me down here, I swear I'll see what the rest of the world has to offer._

Baer took one last moment to appreciate the cozy room, and then pushed the door open. A burst of cold wind graced his bristly cheeks-spring in Skellige was hardly different from the winters, only for the lack of snow to differentiate the two.

_Alright, now to get a boat to get off this rock._

* * *

"We're nearly land-bound, master witcher!" Ruval, the captain of the small schooner. An older man with greying wisps of hair that threatened to leave his patchy scalp, only matched by a long black beard with gray streaks in it. "Ard Skellig in all her beautiful glory." Ruval sighed, letting the wind whip his beard around fiercely. "How long since ye been on the main island?"

"A decade or so," Baer offhandedly mentioned, his eyes drawn to docks where large caravels, frigates, and galleons set docked. "Never really had business out on the main island. Not since the sea took my ma and pa."

"A shame that is." Ruval solemnly nodded. "Did they get a proper send-off?"

"My cousin set the boat to flames, even though it twas empty. Don't remember much." Baer rolled his shoulders, feeling confined in the small boat seat. For a Skellige native, he didn't much care for sailing. "Anyway, what's new on Ard Skellig?"

"Same as ever," Ruval snorted. "Politics. Posturing. Drinking."

Baer's lips pulled back into a flat line. The clans were hardly complacent and always eager to one-up another. Being in the wilds of Undvik meant he didn't get to hear about much of the happenings until months later. Junod had warned him about meddling with local authorities too much; hence why he never told clan Tordarroch that he had decided to stay within their borders. Anonymity was preferred, as the witcher could easily go from unsung hero to town heretic with the bellow of an angry farmer and ignition of a torch.

"Just drop me off by the shore over there," Baer said, pointing toward a craggy beach away from the docks. "It should do fine."

"It's a longer walk to the markets, sir witcher," Duval said with trepidation in his voice. He eyed the spry looking warrior and swallowed hard. "But, as you wish."

_That's the point._ Baer sat back, frowning at the discomfort of the cramped seat once again. _Want to get a lay of the land, and some fresh air that doesn't completely taste like saltwater._

Baer disembarked from the flimsy boat and gave a Skellige salute-a raised fist paired with a grunt-then breathed a sigh of relief as he felt his boots sink into the silt and dirt on the shore. He was on land again; a much better place than at sea. Was that why he was so eager to leave the islands? Baer shook his head and paid no head as Duval grumbled to himself and set sail once again, leaving the new witcher on the craggy shore.

Baer began to hike through the rocky hills surrounding the main port of Ard Skellig. Most of the isles felt relatively the same to Baer; they were rocky, had lots of trees, and were untamed and wild like the denizens. Sure, the druids would argue about the distinct pulses within the air and earth about how each part of the land was unique, but to Baer, it was just nature. The only thing that had changed with witcher training was now an underlying paranoia that a leshy or fiend may be lurking in the deeper woods. All the little tall tales he had heard as a child now suddenly had a bit more credence than before.

Taking the scenic route, Baer arrived at the crossroads overlooking the harbor just a few hours past midday. His boots were beginning to feel broken in, and the fatigue from waking up a couple of days prior had vanished. The trial of grasses had improved his fortitude something fierce, though he was still unsure if it was the Bear witcher concoction, or just the mutation and general. Something Junod never specified.

_Hard to believe Junod wasn't a Skellige,_ Baer thought as he stopped by the crossroad signpost. _He only ever did explain things when I asked. Maybe I should have asked more questions…_

Shaking his head, Baer set off toward Kaer Trolde, the main keep of the island that was nestled between the peaks and connected with some less than safe bridges. It was equal parts wondersome and odd to Baer. Why build your keep in the safety of the mountains, but have such limited exits or easily cut off? His prior education of sailing and the few books Junod made him read weren't much to go off of for engineering expertise, so Baer dismissed it as something beyond his understanding.

As Baer walked by, he noticed the guards of clan Craite give him wary looks, but said nothing as he passed by the first set of gates. He kept a straight face and focused expression, trying to look the part of a determined witcher, and not a twenty-something who's only on their first day of the Path. He hoped that the ability to cull monsters would outway the new adversity he would now warrant as an outcast among society; like a leper amongst the masses, he could now no longer hide amongst a crowd.

Baer made it to the second gate, the one directly in front of Kaer Trolde, before a guard stepped in front of his path. He was a long-haired grizzly looking fellow wearing studded leathers with a patch of clan Craite on the front. Baer rolled his shoulders and did his best to keep a neutral expression and look unbothered.

"Aye, witcher. What business do ya have at the keep?" the guard asked, crossing his arms. He looked Baer directly in the eyes with slightly flared nostrils and pursed lips.

_Ah, so this is what it's like._

"Heard of an issue with some trolls," Baer said, maintaining eye contact with the guard. "Who can I talk to 'bout that?"

"Aye, it still be a problem," the guard conceded. He held up his hand and pointed at the ground. "Stay 'ere. I'mma go fetch who's in charge."

Baer glanced at the other nearby guard; the man's arms crossed, but his hand hovering over his cutlass. Shrugging, Baer took a seat on the ground.

"I'll be 'ere then," Baer replied. He closed his eyes to meditate. "Hopefully he won't take his time," he whispered under his breath. Baer couldn't help but feel eager to get the contract underway. It was his first one after all.

Taking in a deep breath, Baer steadied himself and attuned himself to the natural world around him. The sound became more crisp and clear; from the crunching sound of the guard's boots disappearing into the distance towards the keep, to the bells in the harbor ringing out, and the birds in the peaks of the mountains cawing, Baer took it all in.

_There is a peace to this,_ Baer mused as he wrinkled his nose. _No wonder Junod would be madder than an ice giant when I disturbed him._

Baer soaked in the heat of the sun and sounds around him until he heard the sounds of hurried footsteps approaching him. His eyes flickered open, the mutations doing their job in helping him adjust instantly to the new light, as he saw the guard from earlier returning with a man around his own age wearing bright red leathers, a longsword on his hip, and a burgeoning brown beard. He walked confidently toward the rookie witcher with a smile on his face and a gleam of excitement in his eyes. Baer bristled a bit at the man's enthusiasm. Who was _excited_ to see a witcher?

"Ah, well aren't you a big ole' bastard!" The newcomer bellowed. Baer exhaled deeply and stood up to his full height, brushing off dirt from his leather gambeson. The man in red stood right before Baer, only a couple inches shorter than him, and proudly placed his hands on his hips. "Name's Crach an Craite of clan Craite. I'd hoped that the witcher in the isles would come, though you're a bit...younger than I would have imagined. And more polite."

"Must've been my mentor you heard of," Baer said. "You've got worries?"

"Worries? Bah," Craite chuckled, motioning to the guard to be dismissed. "A witcher is a boon, no matter if they're a bit green. Plus, you're Skellige, I can tell. That's even more reassurin'. Which isle you from?"

"Undvik," Baer gruffly replied, though his expression softened just a tad.

"Well, storms take me now, that's excellent news!" Craite chortled, throwing his head back a bit with glee. "So, tell me sir witcher, what shall I call ye?"

"Baer's my name." Crach held out his hand, and in stride Baer reached across and grabbed the man's forearm, pulling him into a firm shake. "Well met."

"Aye, indeed." Crach let go with an approving nod. "Alright, walk with me. Tell me what ya heard."

Baer trailed close behind Crach, heading back toward the rickety bridge. "Trolls from what my source said. Not much else, unfortunately, but knowin' what I'm against is half the battle, or so I'm told."

"If it were only that simple," Crach mused, scratching at his beard. "Large merchant vessel crashed into the island 'bout a week ago when storm winds were ragin'. Dislodged a whole nest of the dumb buggars, and they took those who survived as prisoners. Clan Drummond sent a patrol, but only two of 'em returned. That's how we learned of the trolls."

"Do you know what kind?"

"Eh." Crach shrugged. "Big bulky fellas from the description. Big ole' hides of stone and whatnot."

Baer nodded. _Right, so rock trolls. That's all good and well, but how many are there?_

"Rock trolls by the sounds of it," Baer confirmed. Crach slowed their pace as they reached the crossroads post overlooking the harbor. "Do you know how many?"

"No, but we know that they've got prisoners still from the merchant ship, and some from clan Drummond," Crach admitted, a hint of bitterness seeping into his voice. "Clan Drummond is tryin' to recall their forces and petition clan Craite for help, but it'd be another week before that gets resolved." Crach turned to Baer with a fire in his eyes. "We've got to get them folk out now and kill the bastards. They won't last long down there much longer."

"I get ya," Baer replied. "We'll get down there and check out the place. Need to see how many of 'em we're dealin' with. See where prisoners 're being held. That sort of thing."

Crach grinned. "A scoutin' of the enemy before we pounce on 'em? I can agree with that."

"How far is it out?" Baer asked.

"Not too terribly, just gotta weave our way through the thickets," Crach replied. "C'mon, I'll show you the path. We should make it before sundown."

Baer nodded and gestured for Crach to lead, to which the clansman happily accepted. Baer felt more reassured as they pressed on through the dense foliage of Ard Skellig. Of all the potential missions to have on his own, facing something familiar felt nice. He'd dealt with rock trolls before on Undvik with Junod.

He just had no safety net this time of a master witcher by his side. It was his turn to take the lead, and Baer was eager to prove himself.

* * *

The sound of rocks clanking echoed in the distance as the horizon at the edge of the ocean threatened to swallow up the sun. The sound of the clanking was a poor attempt at a rhythm, but the effort was discernible to any person who had heard a drunken bard in a tavern before. Baer grit his teeth and crouched low to the ground as he and Crach posted up behind a large swath of trees near the coastline.

"Alright, there they are. The whole lot of those rock heads," Crach muttered, his hand resting on the pommel of his longsword. "So how are we going in?"

Across the beach through the fading light, Baer clearly could see a full camp of rock trolls. A decent-sized caravel, Redanian in style with its torn up red mast, rested on the shore like a crumpled piece of lumber. The shore had a cliff overhanging it, making it into a small makeshift cove-a large hole in the cliffside wall leading into a tunnel, and presumably where the rock trolls emerged when struck by the ship's bowsprit.

"We?" Baer blinked and looked to the lordling. "What makes you think you're going in?"

"I ain't afraid of a little fight, ya know," Crach grumbled. "We could take 'em, no sweat. It'd be like heroes of yore."

Baer shook his head. "I may be new to this, but I do know a thing or two about rock trolls." He held up an index finger. "First, there's a lot of 'em. See there?" Baer pointed toward the shipwrecked mercantile vessel. "Lots of movement. Guessing they're using the cargo hold for the prisoners." Baer sighed and took a knee. "We've got to be careful. A single rock troll is a strong buggar, but beatable. A whole group of 'em is a death sentence."

"Even for a _witcher_?" Crach whispered tensely. His eyes were wide as he glanced between the calm Baer and the troll's camp. "You're _supposed_ to be good at killin' these things!"

"I _am_ , " Baer rebuked, growling under his breath.

_Doubt Junod would be proud if I get axed on my first contract._ Baer motioned for Crach to kneel with him, and the clansman begrudgingly obliged.

"Now, listen," Baer stated, "We've got about a dozen of these trolls, so we're dealing with a tribe-"

Crach rolled his eyes. "A tribe? Thought these dimwits could hardly reason at all…"

"They're simple like a slow kid in the village, but not idiots," Baer reaffirmed. "They have hierarchy, as it's called. Meanin' that they've got a leader. If we can beat him-"

"Then that makes us the boss!" Crach exclaimed. His smile vanished, replaced by furrowed brows and lips twisted in confusion. "Wait. I don't follow how we go about that, witcher."

"Simple," Baer said, standing up. "We go talk with 'em." Baer began to walk down the beach. "You comin'?"

" _Sweet Melitele,"_ Crach swore under his breath, dragging his feet as he followed behind Baer. "You're really doing this, are ya?"

Baer shrugged. "You don't have to follow along. 'Sides, if I wanted to blunt my silver, there's less deadly ways."

"You sure you ain't got saltwater boggin' down your brain?" Crach spat in a hushed tone. "Oh, _lords,_ they see us. Two of 'em coming this way."

"Just act natural," Baer replied, though he wouldn't admit he was sweating a bit. It was a risky gambit after all.

Crach gave the witcher a skeptical look. " Act _natural?_ Around a buncha rock heads? What's that s'pose to even mean?"

Baer frowned. _He makes a good point._ "Just let me do the talking and try lookin' tough. Shouldn't be too hard."

Baer could feel the Craite clansman want to retort, but he wisely bit his tongue as two rock trolls walked within earshot. They were brutish creatures with lumbering arms and a hulking stone back-like carapace. With faces carved out of stone that only a mother could love, their beady eyes zeroed in on Baer who poured his focus into maintaining a calm demeanor.

"What little men want?" one of the trolls rumbled out. "Hmmm. Witchy man."

"I've come to challenge your leader," Baer stated, lowering his voice into the gruffest and sternest octave he could muster. "I have a deal they can't refuse."

The two rock trolls hummed, as if pondering the witcher's request as a deep philosophical question. "Fine. No tricksy witchy stuff, or we boom witchy head," the other rock troll said. "We takes yous now. Cap'n sees yous."

Baer nodded and began to walk behind the two trolls. Crach leaned next to Baer, lowering his voice. "That worked?"

"That was the easy part," Baer whispered back. "Now we have to talk with this 'Captain' of theirs."

"What is the challenge?" Crach asked.

"Well, trolls usually like riddles, but I'm shite at those," Baer conceded, sighing. "Gotta improvise."

Crach's eyes bulged and his face reddened with fury. " _Really?_ "

"It was that or charge in there, die, and let the people get eaten before your rescue crew could arrive." Baer grit his teeth. "Take your damn pick."

"No witchy man talk!"

Baer looked to Crach with a deadpan expression and mouthed 'good job' to the Craite representative. Crach rolled his eyes and was content to stew in his anger as they approached the broken ship.

Upon closer inspection, the ship's hull integrity was severely damaged, but the ship was perhaps only a few days of hard work and some quality planks for being serviceable. Near the entrance into the gaping hole of the ship, Baer heard moans of displeasure and rock trolls mumblings. Painted on the outside of the wall, crude drawings in red of what loosely resembled a rock troll could be deciphered. Baer shook his head at the display of gore, and dutifully slipped into the hull behind his escort.

Baer's nose wrinkled as the smells of wet refuse permeated the broken hold, the sounds of planks stressing as the rock trolls ascended to the top deck. No prisoners were in sight, but with his newly attuned hearing, Baer could hear the muted moans through the walls and floorboards. There were still people alive on this vessel.

There was still time.

"Cap'n dis way," one of the rock trolls leading Baer grumbled.

They had breached the top deck of the ship and standing alongside two other trolls, Baer blinked and rubbed at his eyes. Wedged into between the two other rock trolls was another, but nearly an extra foot in size and wearing the most ridiculous pirate hat he'd ever seen; a large tricorn hat made of purple velvet with a griffon feather notched in the side.

Baer blinked once again, just to make sure the behemoth before him wasn't an illusion. _Weird. Never thought I'd think a rock troll would pull off the sailor look. I dare say it looks natural. Almost._

The large rock troll, 'Cap'n', hummed out loud in a deep guttural bass like noise as if instead of phlegm, he had pebbles stuck in his throat. "What he do 'ere?" Cap'n pointed a large gnarled finger at the witcher. "You say what yous wants. This my ship."

Baer took a deep breath. _Here goes I suppose._ He glanced to the side of the boat. In the event of negotiations going South, he could probably make it to the water. Probably.

"I've come to challenge you for control ship, Cap'n." Baer folded his arms across his chest and glared. "Seeing as you're running a fine vessel, I figured we could be civil about this. You being a respected captain and all."

"What?" Cap'n growled. "You no take ship from me!"

Baer patted Crach on the shoulder. "I even brought one of the clansmen from clan Craite. It's standard ship owning rules; you can get challenged by an outsider once per season. Isn't that right, Crach?"

"Oh, yes. True as ever," Crach rambled off, eyeing Baer like he had lost his mind. Baer shrugged.

"So, do you accept the challenge, or will you risk having your crew mutiny?" Baer asked in a calm voice. He lowered his voice and looked over to the rock trolls that had escorted him. "That's where you get to kill the leader for being a coward and take over."

"Oh, we likes this. Cap'n should accept!"

Cap'n roared and threw up his trunk-like arms. "Fine! We do challenge, witchy man. But what I get when I win?"

_Shit._

"Well," Baer started, biting the inside of his cheek, "You can...have Crach…?" Crach's eyes bulged, and Baer swallowed hard. "Erm, yes. You can have my friend here if I lose."

"Friend is an awfully strong word," Crach warned. His fingers brushed the top of his longsword's pommel. "Fine, have it your way witcher, though if you lose I'm going to haunt you."

"We wrestles." Cap'n rotated his neck, popping joints. Crach winced a bit and Baer furrowed his brows. "On beach. Soon. No witchy powers or weapons, or witchy man head go boom."

The four other rock trolls around chortled and grunted in appreciation. They were going to get a show out of it, after all.

Crach leaned over to Baer amongst the rabble. "You a good wrestler? Even wrestle a _troll_?"

"I'm trained in unarmed combat by my mentor," Baer whispered back. "I'm not too bad, I'd say?"

" _Not too bad_?" Crach choked, doing a double-take between him and the rock trolls. "Yer gonna have t' do better than that mate. Really fuckin' inspirin' that is, ya know, considerin' you volunteered me to be supper!"

"Sorry, I needed something." Baer sighed. "Still, he's big, but so was my mentor. I've got a plan."

"Brillant!" Crach tensely shot back, keeping his voice low. "I hope it includes not getting crushed to death!"

"It does," Baer replied. The rabble amongst the trolls died down, and Baer motioned for their attention. "My good friend, Crach, will go find us a suitable spot on the beach to wrestle." Crach began to trudge away, but Baer grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him in quickly, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Pick a spot with soft, loose sand."

Crach nodded and yanked his arm away. _Hope it's enough that he got the idea,_ Baer thought as he looked back to Cap'n, the mountainous rock troll with a fabulous hat. _Cause he's about twice the size of Junod. Let's see if I can become a captain._


	2. Weight in Gold

Tiny pebbles crunched underneath the steel-toed boots of the witcher as he strode across the beach. The tide was starting to come in and the sun threatened to disappear beyond the horizon. Crach waved to the witcher in the distance, the broad-shouldered clansman had picked out a small part of the rocky beach that was littered in small rocks, silt, and patches of brown sand.

 _He did alright, it's just how I hoped it'd be._ Baer approached Crach, with the retinue of rock trolls not too far behind him. _It's good they bought into this whole ship owning thing. Then again, I do have to handle a giant rock troll with my bare hands. Thankfully, Junod isn't here to witness my blunder._

"Alright, Baer, I've done what ya asked," Crach said, pointing toward a large circle near the shore that looked to be drawn with a stick. "Figured it didn't have to be pretty, but it tis as ye asked. Anything else, besides, ya know, not losing to that big ole' fucker?"

Baer unstrapped his weapons from his back and thrust them into Crach's hands. "Yeah, don't lose or scuff these."

Crach bobbled the weapons, and then nearly dropped them as Baer tossed his hand crossbow on top of the growing arsenal.

"Got any more for me to carry for ya, yer _highness,"_ Crach sneered, hefting the witcher equipment into a better grip. Baer blinked for a moment, and then placed his bandolier of vials on top of the mound. Crach looked down and sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't o' asked…"

"Just place them somewhere safe. I'm going to remove some of my armor before the match begins," Baer said as he began to fiddle with his cuirass' straps. "I'll need every advantage I can get."

"So why not leave your armor on?" Crach retorted. "Don't cha want some protection from that big ole' fucker?"

Baer shrugged. "In my experience with rock trolls and other ogroids, a glancing blow is enough to stop or stun a good witcher. I'll take a full range of motion over protection."

Crach raised an eyebrow, not impressed. "And what happens if ya do get clobbered?"

"Well," Baer chuckled lightly, "I hope you can run fast, or you'll be soup."

Crach paled, letting out a large exhale from his nostrils. "Oh, that's feckin _dandy_ , innit? Some witcher you are. Startin' to think I wanted the other one from the isles."

Baer dropped his armored plating from his cuirass, leaving just the flexible leather underneath. He rotated his arm, enjoying the lack of weight and restriction.

"Don't be so sure about that," Baer warned. "He may've just served you to the trolls anyway for the fun of it, and then killed them in their post-feast stupor." Baer met Crach's eyes and gave him a stern look. "But you have me instead. So take it as you will, I s'pose."

Cap'n, the massive rock troll with his frilly feather hat approached the Bear witcher with his gang of fellow excited looking rock trolls. Cap'n growled as he passed by Baer and Crach, making his way toward the etched circle in the sand, with the other trolls lining up around the line. They seemed to have the gist of the procedure; simplistic creatures but not as dumb as some would suspect.

"Witchy man do wrestle now!" Cap'n hollered. His lumbering form sinking into the earth with each rumbling step. "I boom you now!"

"Looks like I'm up," Baer muttered, flexing his hands and rolling his neck. His slitted eyes drifted toward the Cap'n's tree trunk-like legs, his stubby feet already an inch deep in the silt. "It'll be over pretty quickly, Crach. Stay vigilant."

Crach rolled his eyes as Baer began walking toward the circle. "Oh, sure thing, witcher. Not like I'm doing much else."

Baer raised a fist to acknowledge his crotchety ally, entering the circle, and locking eyes with his massive opponent. _He's got to weigh an absolute ton, being made of rock and all. Hopefully, he's as slow as he looks._ Baer raised his arms, and the rock trolls around the ring began to grunt and holler. They were ready for bloodsport.

"Are you ready, Cap'n?" Baer said. He began to circle the edge of the ring; the rock troll mimicking him. "I'm quite excited to claim your ship and crew."

"You no get me things, witchy man!" Cap'n grumbled, stomping his feet in the soft sand. "Me flatten yous!"

Baer looked toward the sliver of sunlight hanging on the edge of the horizon. "When the light disappears, we begin. Whoever submits, leaves the circle, or cannot continue loses. Understood?"

"Me understands," the troll replied. "Me waits."

Baer and Cap'n continued to circle each other, the chanting of the rock trolls fusing into a discordant harmony like rocks falling in a tumbler. The witcher's eyes glowed a splendid golden hue as he tracked the rock troll's movements. He was continuously trudging in the same path, paving through the beach to create a trench. Baer smiled. It was exactly as he had hoped-every isle in Skellige was eerily similar, from the denizens and cuisine, down to the types of sediment that sailors would encounter on the beaches.

The shadows along the beach extended, and then swallowed up the landscape. The witcher's pupils expanded as the cacophony around him erupted. The night had come, and with it Cap'n telegraphed his charge toward Baer with his mammoth arms outstretched, grasping for his quarry.

Baer crouched down, trying to stay light on his feet as he rolled past the lumbering hulk. The wet sand kicked up as Cap'n skidded to a stop, sinking further into the sand. Baer quickly recomposed himself, hands up and eyes darting between the troll's legs and the outer ring.

"Ahhh, yous come back heres!" Cap'n moaned as he dragged his legs through the sand, turning himself around for another charge.

"You can certainly try, Cap'n. I expected you to be quicker," Baer challenged, holding his arms out. The trolls around made rapid hooting and hollering sounds, and the witcher's adversary snarled in frustration.

"Puny human!" Cap'n roared, his charge slower this time as the sand brushed against his stumpy knees.

Baer sidestepped around the troll, and boos began to sound off around him. The other trolls were becoming bored; expecting a clobbering and not some dodging from the outsized witcher. While Baer was confident in his physical strength, Junod had taught him to be mindful of an opponent's strength. A lesson encapsulated within a single suplex and concussion. A mistake he was privy to not make again.

Crouching low to the ground with his hands out and at the ready, Baer looked up to the skidding troll with a fire in his eyes. The sodden beach dirt had now eclipsed Cap'n's knees. Taking a deep breath, the witcher lunged as the troll tried to turn around, dragging its cumbersome legs through the sand.

Baer tackled Cap'n shoulder first, letting out a grunt as he pumped his legs, driving into the behemoth. The sounds of disapproval transformed into a cacophony of hollering. Baer pumped his legs furiously as the troll's arms couldn't quite reach around to his back. Cap'n wiggled, grunted, and struggled as Baer tried to shove him outside of the circle. The two of them were sinking deeper into the earth, now at an accelerated rate with them struggling against one another; Cap'n now buried up to his waist and Baer calf-deep, feeling the sand pour into the crevices of his boots.

"Gah, witchy man no fight fair!" Cap'n wailed as his limbs flailed wildly. "Turn 'round!"

 _Not on my life._ Baer's lips curved into a small grin. _He's well on his way now to being taken. Credit to Crach for picking a sinking point._

The fruitless struggles of Cap'n surged as he continued to steadily descend into the sandy bank. The other rock trolls looked on with curiosity, and their shoots settled into confused mumbling. Like a hungry maw of a serpent, the earth engulfed the heavy Cap'n and sand quickly rushed to cover his head and mute the sound of his cries for mercy. Baer wasn't sure if he'd suffocate down there or not, but it was the simplest way to defeat a foe that weighed more than most small ships.

Baer looked to the trolls around him and held his arms out wide. "Your leader is defeated. Taken by the very land itself. You are my crew now."

The trolls unceremoniously shrugged and nodded. _Easy enough, I suppose._ Baer walked over to Crach, who had his jaw wide open as if he were trying to catch flies. Baer gave the clansman a smug look as he gestured for his equipment back.

"H-how did you do that?" Crach asked, befuddled. "Magic o-or something like-"

"It's not magic," Baer confirmed as he began resetting his cuirass. "It's something I picked up originally when working on boats before I became a witcher. Certain shores have different rocks, mostly either clay, tightly packed dirt, or loose pebbles. The loose ones like this are practically sinkholes, and make pulling a heavy boat out of them terrible." He shrugged and strapped his swords to his back. "I figured if I sink in these muddy banks, then a rock troll should too."

Crach nodded slowly. "S'pose that makes sense, though somethin' is bugging me."

"What's that?"

"How'd you know that the beach here would be like this?" Crach asked, his eyes warily drifting toward the group of approaching rock trolls. Baer seemed unperturbed.

"Truth is, I didn't," Baer said with a grimace. "I noticed the color of the beach when we approached, and truthfully, I was looking for Drowners. Sometimes they nest in areas like that."

"Ahuh." Crach crossed his arms. "Well ain't that a dandy outcome. Riskin' my life on a whim like that, eh?"

"Technically, it worked out," Baer said, gesturing to the rock trolls idly standing by.

Crach snorted and spat on the ground. "Technically, you're an _asshole_ ," Crach said, voice straining to hold in a wave of quiet anger. "Now, let's get them folk caged free, and then I'm gettin' the fuck outta 'ere."

Baer nodded. "Fine by me. I'll come by Kaer Trolde later for payment-"

"Oh, I've got yer payment right here." Crach dug into his pockets, pulling out a coin purse. He tossed it to the witcher, who caught it with ease. Baer's lips curved into a frown as he hefted it.

"Seems a little light for fighting a bunch of rock trolls…"

"Ya, I'll bet. Consider the deduction for volunteerin' my services so freely," Crach snorted. "Just take the gold and get outta here, witcher. You be lucky I'm payin' ya at all."

Baer sighed and quickly pocketed his meager earnings. _I swear, if Junod could see me now, he'd never let me hear the end of it. A witcher that forgot to negotiate a price first!_

Baer looked up to speak with the crotchety clansman, but Crach had already begun hiking into the hills of Skellige, toward civilization. There was nothing else he could besides learn from his error. He turned toward the broken ship on the beach, now bathed in silvery moonlight, and marched onward with his new rock troll companions in tow.

It was time he helped whoever was on the menu tonight. An act worth more than its weight in gold.

* * *

Content to let the rock trolls mumble amongst themselves, Baer pushed forward into the leaking hull of the ship. The smell of stale grain and rot permeated the air as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, leaving the moonlight behind.

"Witchy boss, what we do?" A rock troll asked, his heavy footsteps booming behind him.

"I need to find the rest of the ship's former crew you all found," Baer explained. He turned around to the troll. "Do you know where they are being kept?"

"Underneaths," The rock troll said, pointing down to make his point clear.

Bear pat him on his rocky shoulder. "Great, how about you go start a fire on the beach with the rest of your kin, eh?"

The rock troll hummed, a sound of rocks fluttering against each other in the creature's throat, and then turned around to join his brethren near the entrance. Even though Baer had earned their trust, he knew it was tenuous at best. They'd become much less agreeable when their stomachs would demand penance.

Floorboards creaked as Baer stepped softly as his steel-toed boots would allow him. He circled the middle deck until he found a descending staircase that led into a half-flooded cargo hold; a place where the stench of rotten food permeated. He wriggled his nose and drew his silver sword.

Getting caught off guard by a wayward Drowner wasn't in Baer's evening plans.

As Baer crept down the stairs, he began to hear a soft humming. A sharp, melodic sound that vaguely sounded of bits and pieces of Elder speech, or, at least the bits that Baer remembered from some brief and disappointing lessons with Junod. Being a sailor from Skellige did no favors for his linguistic skills, but thankfully being a warrior poet wasn't a prerequisite to becoming a Bear witcher. Hitting stuff hard was good enough.

 _That song sounds odd but nice,_ Baer thought as the ankle-deep water sloshed against his shoes. _Could that be a lamia or siren hiding in the dark, or perhaps-_

"Ah!" A high pitch shout screeched beside Baer. He quickly held his blade at the ready, pointing it in the direction of the distressed noise.

To his right, he noticed a partially flooded cage built for carrying small livestock, but instead, a very worn down and weary-looking halfling man lay inside, his small hands gripping the iron bars. His clothes looked to be of fine make at one time, with soft textures from what Baer could see in the dark. Baer wasn't sure about halflings in general; he'd met one or two before in his life, and both were merchants. Finicky and jovial little people, much different than the sad little man before him.

"Hello?" Baer asked, keeping his blade steady. His eyes darted down further into the hull, where the humming had now stopped. "Are there still people here?"

"Oh, I almost took you for one of those troll things!" the Halfling rambled. Baer blinked and paused as he took a moment to digest the frazzled man's quick words. "Are you here to save us? I think he's here to save us! Lady Vidhala, I think someone here is to set us free from the-"

Baer tapped his sword against the cage. "Keep your voice down," Baer warned in a low tone. "I am 'ere to get ya out, but be quiet."

"Then quickly move, yes?" Another voice called out from deeper within the cargo hold. It was distinctly feminine, though felt a bit too modulated and forced. It sounded exotic as if they were putting explicit emphasis on the long sounding vowels, either by force of habit or accent that Baer couldn't place.

Baer squinted deeper into the pitch-black hold, but even his enhanced eyes couldn't clearly see what lurked in the darkness a few feet beyond him. _Wish I had some Cat right about now. Would have been useful. A job for later, I suppose._

Leaving the flustered protests of the halfling behind, Baer slowly made his way towards the back of the cargo hold, and he saw several other cages lining the walls. Most were opened and empty, a few raggedy clothes were strewn about in the stagnant water, but one cage remained closed with a figure inside, their back against the bars.

"I'm here to get you outta 'ere," Baer said. He gripped the iron bars on the cage, tugging at them to test their strength. A small grin graced his face. "You might wanna stand back."

The bars whined under the weight of Baer's pulling. They weren't the strongest or thickest material, and after a few moments, two of the bars snapped in the middle. The witcher pulled the broken rods from their sockets, making a small enough exit for someone lithe to slip through.

He couldn't make out any features of the woman, Vidhalla, other than she seemed to be dressed in some sort of robes. She gave an approving nod and Baer stepped back to allow her to exit the makeshift prison. He moved onto the halfling's cage, and after a small warning, kicked in the front of the cage. The halfling scurried out and brushed himself off as he stood to his full height of Baer's mid-thigh.

"I can explain things once I get you two out," Baer announced, sliding his weapon back into place. "Nobody else?"

"Uh, no sir," the Halfling replied, nervously. "Lead the way, if you'd so please."

The woman gave a gesture for the witcher to lead on, her hard brown eyes looking Baer up and down with precision and scrutiny. _Not too surprised, I must look quite weird with my glowing eyes and all._

With a bit of urgency to get out of the sodden vessel, Baer rushed out with his rescues close behind him. The moonlight gave way to a bonfire on the shore; large logs stacked upon each other with a smattering of rock trolls huddled around. Baer barely held his surprise-he didn't expect they would be able to build a fire.

 _Perhaps I should give these creatures more credit-_ Baer winced as a rock troll howled as they tried to put another log on the fire, only to scorch their arm in the coals. _Or I should just reserve my judgment for a bit._

"So, you have tamed the beasts I see," Vidhalla mentioned casually. He spun around to look at the survivors, now that his mutant eyes could make out their actual features.

The halfling man was rather slender, wearing a pistachio green jacket and pants made of a velvet-like material, though considerably faded and waterlogged. His springy blond hair on his head was a mess, and he kept his wide eyes focused on the group of trolls ahead. Baer couldn't blame him. He was probably little more than a snack to them.

While Baer had some relative experience with halflings, the woman beside him struck an imposing figure as she stood confidently, only a few inches shorter than Baer himself. With long caramel-colored hair, ebony skin, and sharp facial features that had an amused and skeptical visage. Her clothing consisted of a dark brown mercantile robe with several jagged designs of white and yellow that contrasted the white-banded tattoos that traced her exposed forearms.

 _A halfling and Zerrikanian,_ Baer mused as he and the woman exchanged eye contact. He kept a strong face, though he couldn't help but feel the scrutiny of being evaluated by her hawkish leer. _They were all that's left, I can't imagine how they must feel._

Baer coughed into his fist, clearing his throat. "Probably not the rescue you had in mind, but I'm glad to see you were safe." The witcher cast a glance over his shoulder at the rock trolls near the fire pit. "Try not to hold any gripes with 'em. They jus' do what comes naturally."

"They ate our friends!" The halfling man squeaked. A rock troll turned towards the direction of the noise, making a grinding chuckling from its rocky throat. The halfling paled and cowered behind the Zerrikanian woman, who looked unperturbed.

"It is of no consequence, witcher," Vidhalla cooly replied. "What trading could have been done, is lost. We must leave." She looked toward the broken ship and shook her head. "Though it is now harder."

"Do you have any contacts?" Baer asked. _And perhaps a way that you could bring me along to get off of Ard Skellige?_

"The crew was lost to them," the Zerrikanian pointed at the rock trolls, "So it will be difficult to replace them. I care not for if they were eaten though."

The halfling man huffed and pulled away from the woman. "Well, I do!"

Vidhalla looked down to the half-man with a gaze usually reserved for a disappointed parent. "Must you be as soft as the rest of your kind, Gilles."

"It's called caring!" Gilles retorted, though his voice shook. "I'd like to atleast act like I cared for those ruffians a bit! People don't deserve to be turned into soup."

Vidhalla's nose wrinkled. "A differing opinion. Reasons why I am the merchant, and you the intermediary." She turned to Baer, crossing her arms across her chest. "Don't suppose I could hire you to help us?"

"You're familiar with witchers?" Baer asked, genuinely caught off guard.

Vidhalla nodded. "Yes. Many from my homeland. Manticores, we call them. Slayers. Mercenaries. Freelancers." She took a few steps toward Baer; her analytical brown eyes piercing into Baer's. "We hire you, yes? I pay you in travel, and perhaps other things of interest to a slayer of creatures."

"What would you offer me?" Baer said, crossing his arms. He had already failed to negotiate once tonight; he was sure not to repeat his mistake.

"Witchers use potions, correct? I am a merchant with considerable contacts. I can get you access to ingredients at a discount in exchange for your services."

"Usually that means I have money to spend," Baer grumbled. "A lil' light in that area at the moment."

Vidhalla dismissively waved off Baer's concern. "I will draft a contract later, yes? The roads are dangerous, and you will find work. I will talk with my contacts in Cidaris. You will be paid." the woman looked over Baer's shoulder at the trolls. "What do you plan to do with them? They seem to listen to you, no?"

Baer nodded. "Yeah, for now. I'm their chieftain at the moment since I beat their leader." He scratched the back of his head and chuckled lightly. "Though, not sure how long that'll last."

"They listen to you now though?"

"Yes…?"

Gilles pursed his lips and lowered his voice. "But, Lady Vidhalla, they ate-"

"I did not ask for your opinion, half-man," Vidhalla snapped as she raised her hand to her chin thoughtfully. "Could we not have them fix the ship?"

 _Could they?_ Baer looked back over to the group of rock trolls, still muttering amongst themselves and occasionally burning themselves. _They'll be hungry sooner or later. But for general labor, they have the strength of several men. It might work._

"Maybe, but they'd need direction," Baer admitted. "A strong sense of direction, and-" A faint smile graced Baer's face. "I've got an idea." Vidhalla quirked an eyebrow and gestured for Baer to continue. The witcher motioned with his head to follow him toward the trolls.

Vidhalla strode confidently forward with her fearful ally trailing her like a shadow. The rock trolls turned to their new leader, Baer, as he reached a small bonfire. He raised his arms to accentuate his size and made a grunting sound to rally their attention.

"Attention!" Baer shouted, his voice cutting through the night breeze like a greataxe, "I've got news for you all. I have accepted a challenge from a very powerful challenger." Baer gestured to Vidhalla and exchanged a nod with the woman, though the Zerrikanian women nodded more apprehensively. "We shall fight for control of the tribe!"

"Witchy man fight agains!"

The rock trolls quickly circled up around the three humans, and Baer leaned toward Vidhalla. "Hit me."

"How so?" Vidhalla skeptically replied. She took notice of Gilles clinging to her side and the rock trolls forming a circle with rabid excitement. "Just...punch you?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to get you a crew," Baer explained in a hushed tone. "Just punch me-"

The witcher barely saw the merchant's hand reel back and pop him in the face. It had sufficient force, more than he had anticipated, and he was certain he had heard his nose crack. Baer held his hand to his face, using the momentum of Vidhalla's strike to his advantage to land on his back, pretending to nurse the wound.

Baer raised his free hand. "I yield!" Baer croaked out, hoping it was convincing enough.

The trolls hummed in agreement, finally happy to see someone take some damage after the lackluster affair in the sand earlier. Baer felt a trail of blood trickle out of his nose, and a small hand grasp his raised hand. With the assistance from Gilles, Baer stumbled back to his feet, hoping his acting was convincing enough. The shouts of approval seemed to be a good notion that it had worked.

"So I am in charge of a bunch of rock trolls," Vidhalla mused, curiously observing her new followers. "So, what was the point of this plan?"

With a quick flick of his wrist, Baer reset his nose. He grunted, gingerly touching the broken cartilage. _I'll have to remember she has a killer right hook._

"Well," Baer started as he approached the new chieftain, "You lost your crew at sea or to trolls, so I figured, why not have a new crew? They take orders well enough and can help you rebuild your ship."

"A rather thoughtful gesture from many who consider a mutant freak," Vidhalla replied. "Why?"

Baer shrugged. "Well, a witcher being in charge ain't good, plus," Baer chuckled, "I need a way off this rock, and I can help these guys sail. Maybe fish a bit too, to keep 'em satisfied."

"You're going to teach rock trolls...to _sail?!_ " Gilles said in an exasperated tone. He blinked rapidly and shook his head. "That's madness! Utter madness!"

"Not really," Baer replied. "They already think they're a crew from their last leader, so it should be fine. Probably."

"And if they want a snack?" Gilles said as he began to pace around. "What then?"

"Then I tell them, no," Vidhalla said. A vindictive grin spread across her lips. "Unless you complain too much. Might bring down morale."

Gilles stopped moving and his face paled. "Ah, yes, of course. I'll, uh...just be ready for orders."

"It'll take a few days, but I think we can patch up the hull with them," Baer admitted, giving the trolls around them an approving nod. "I can scavenge up some food, and maybe complete another small contract in town before you set sail. If that's alright with you, _captain._ "

Vidhalla exhaled a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, that will work." She turned toward her new crew, raising her accented voice. "We work tomorrow and repair the ship to set sail!"

Baer chuckled under his breath as the rock trolls cheered. Leaving Skellige with a crew of rock trolls and Zerrikanian merchant wasn't how he'd imagined leaving Skellige would be like, but it felt oddly right. He could imagine the gasps and dropped jaws at the sight of them pulling into the port of Cidaris. He would see the world finally, and would do it in true Skellige style; unconventional, yet resilient and rugged.

* * *

Rancid blood spurt forth from the Drowner's neck stump as Baer's sword cleaved through the rotten flesh with ease. The witcher wiped some of the blood from his face with his gauntlet and looked around the abandoned beach of north Ard Skellig.

Baer had taken a few days to try and earn some coin from the locals around Clan Drummond and had managed to scrounge up a small contract to flush out some Drowners from a local fishing spot. Once he arrived, the monsters were all too eager to get their taste of Bear witcher silver, which Baer gladly supplied. It helped him forget about his blunder with Crach and gave Vidhalla time to repair the ship with her new group of gravely knuckled sailors.

Baer slid his silver sword onto the sheath on his back. "That should be about it, I think." He kicked at one of the vivisected bodies, rolling it over in the sand. "Should probably harvest them for reagents. That's what Junod would do, and I should as well."

Hefting his boot knife, Baer knelt beside the first Drowner body and began to carve away at the flesh, digging into the surprisingly soft and malleable skull. _The tongue is used in crafting Killer Whale, but the brain…_

Leaving the carving knife sticking out of the creature's skull, Baer dug around for his small side satchel, where he hid his journal. He removed the small leather-bound book and flipped through the pages. The writing was messy and the pictures were rough sketches at best, a mark of his informal education, but it got the point across to Baer better than any dry textbook crafted by some esoteric wizard.

Baer's finger traced the uneven lines in the journal, his eyes scanning the section on Drowner's physiology. "And it's...right 'ere. Swallow ingredient," Baer muttered out loud like a curse. He felt foolish for forgetting one of the basic ingredients to a witcher's alchemical arsenal. If he had been told two years ago that he'd need to become a scholarly alchemist to become a monster slayer he would have laughed. That mocking laughter still haunted him, casting rays of doubt.

_Well, at least I know I'll need the salivary gland as well. It's not in the book, but I remember Junod saying it had some hardening ability with leather and steel. Might be useful._

The sun had not dared peek out from the overcast clouds, the morning sun diluted into grayness. Baer felt the comfortable chill from the ocean as he continued to pluck, harvest, and collect his quarry. Gold was nice, but the little squishy and nasty bits were just as important to a witcher. To be a witcher was to be a hunter, and being resourceful was the crux of his toolkit.

"What is that man doing?" Baer's ear twitched, his heightened hearing catching the hushed tone near the road. He looked over his shoulder to see an older man and child, no older than ten, both holding fishing pools near the mouth of the beach.

Both islanders gawked at the witcher as Baer turned around, focusing on his work. The witcher's grip tightened on the knife as he scooped out a chunk of brain flesh. He could hear the whispers from the shore. The incessant gossip reached his ears with words like 'monster' and 'beast'. Baer was unsure which they were referring to; him or the Drowners. He grit his teeth and continued to carve away.

Baer continued to work on a few bodies until a drizzle began to fall from the sky. He was hungry, slightly sore from killing a half dozen Drowners, and his left hand still felt a bit cramped from trying to use Igni earlier. Not to mention, the fisherman had remained at a distance, as if patiently waiting for the monster slayer to disappear into the ocean like he had never existed.

 _That's enough for now. I can do the rest near Vidhalla's camp._ Baer stood up and slid his carving knife back into his boot sheath. He rotated his hips and stretched his arms, letting the rain wash away some of the putrid grime from his face. He managed to get another glance at the people waiting, and the older man held his hand in front of the boy as if to protect him from doing something foolish.

Adjusting his short ponytail, Baer trotted off toward the road where the fisherman and the boy stood. Their body posture tensed, and Baer could hear mumblings of 'don't look him in the eye' and other superstitious warnings.

_I'm really a monster to these people, aren't I? A necessary evil to slay the monsters who can't be reasoned with?_

Baer passed by the two humans, both of them averting their eyes from the witcher as he glanced at them. _Not even a glance. Pretending I don't even exist._ It was one fact to hear from Junod about the treatment of witcher's, but another to experience it first hand. He felt like a second-class citizen; even worse than when he was a nameless deckhand.

But he chose to be a witcher. To be _someone_. Even if that person would be reviled, it gave him drive. There was a peace to the work when the blades were put away and he could craft in a well-earned silence. The sound of the waves, the sound of the rainfall, and the honesty in what he did felt right. No potential for smuggling illicit goods. It was to kill the monster and collect your coin. Simple, yet challenging and rewarding.

Traveling back toward Clan Drummond's hold, Baer collected his meager earnings from the clan's quartermaster. He had made a point to negotiate this time, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and had to backtrack his initially high asking price. Junod taught him many things, but subtly in trade was not one of them.

Baer pocketed the coin and looked back up to the burly quartermaster who stroked his long braided beard. "Any other contracts or issues?"

"Nay," the man replied in a clipped tone. "We've had 'nough o' yer kind here. Be on yer way now, eh?"

"Very well," Baer said, with a small nod. Overstaying one's welcome was a large mistake in witcher work.

Baer quickly left town, the murmurs of the villagers raised the hair on his arms as he tried to keep looking forward. Giving the wary people any unnecessary attention would only draw out more negative thoughts. The quartermaster had only slightly softened up when he had heard Baer's accent. He was one of their own, but an outsider nonetheless.

Walking around the island through the muddied path, Baer arrived at the wrecked ship just shy of the evening. The rain had stopped, and in the distance, he could make out ovoid shapes hauling pieces of lumber. He couldn't help but crack a smile when he had first seen a rock troll chop at a tree with their bare hands several days ago.

As the young witcher approached, he saw Vidhalla in the distance talking with a tall armored figure. Baer's heart fluttered for a moment as he saw Junod, and he broke into a light jog.

While Junod wore his normal heavy plated armor, Vidhalla wore clean brown colored robes that hugged her lithe figure with brilliant stripes of yellow accented with beaded chains of teeth and animal bones. Her tightly braided hair swept back, giving her face an ever-present gaze of slight condescension that Baer felt when talking to the woman.

"Master?" Baer called out. The elder Bear witcher turned around from his conversation with the merchant, both their attention drawn to Baer. He skidded against the sand, stopping himself. "I thought you were on another island?"

"I was, boy," Junod remarked. He spat on the ground and sucked some snot down his throat, much to Vidhalla's disgust. "Jus' a noonwraith. Slippery fucker, but it's dead. Again."

Baer nodded and gave the imposing man a handshake, the two witchers firmly gripping each other's forearms. "That's good news. But why are you here?"

"You got rocks in your head? Too much White Gull dull your senses?" Junod held his stomach, letting out a hearty laugh. "I'm 'ere to get a ride off these islands. Met the Zerrikanian yesterday, and worked out a deal."

"Why not hitch a boat at the harbor?" Baer questioned, furrowing his brow. "I figured you would-"

_Unless he pissed someone off._

Junod rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Aye, you figured it out. Congrats, boy, you ain't all just a pretty face with two swords."

Baer looked to Vidhalla. "How's the ship?"

"My new _crew_ is almost done." She gestured toward the former hole in the hull that looked patched with a variety of native wood planks. "We managed to use some of the tools on the ship to make proper lumber and nail them in. The trolls do the heavy lifting and take orders well without complaint. It is...a fine arrangement."

"And Gilles?"

Vidhalla pointed toward the bow of the ship. "He is on fishing duty. Keeping the crew nourished is a necessity." the corner of her lips twisted upward. "It keeps Gilles motivated, and far away to not complain. Almost reminds me of home."

 _She has rock trolls at home like this?_ Baer thought. Vidhalla frowned and began walking toward the ship as if noticing Baer's confusion. _I really know nothing about Zerrikania except that it's far._

The young witcher looked to Junod, who was watching the rock trolls work on the finishing touches. "What did she mean by that?"

"She meant that people work harder when there be a threat of being fed to a damned dragon," Junod grunted. "Careful of them folk, dragon worshippin' weirdos."

Baer's lips became a flat line, and he clammed up. _Says the witcher. Not sure we have much room to judge who's 'weird'._

Though Baer agreed it was odd, he couldn't help be curious. A place that worshipped dragons so far away from Skellige? It sounded like an interesting place to visit, and The Path always had a way of creating work where a witcher was necessary. Another perk that he was eager to capitalize on.


	3. Sea of Troubles

"Here," Baer said firmly, placing the long coiled rope in the rock troll's stubbly hands. "Go take this to the port side. We'll need to...tie that off later to the lifeboats."

The rock troll, Grub, made a sloppy salute with his free hand. "Aye, not Cap'n't."

Despite the setbacks from weather and trying to herd a group of rock trolls like cats tweaking on fisstech, Baer and his new companions had managed to set sail earlier in the morning. The hull wasn't in great shape, but after having the strength of a bunch of rock trolls and two Bear witchers push the craft back into the water, it became apparent that their handiwork had not gone without reward.

"I don't see why you bother with them, lad," Junod said. The titanic witcher leaned against the central mast with a mug of ale in hand. "Dumb fucks like them won't be so nice once they've learned fish tastes like salty shit."

Baer turned to his mentor and frowned. _They're actually helping us sail. Considering some of these trolls are smarter than some of the folk I used to work with._

"Drinking already, master?"

Junod took a long sip from his mug. "Breakfast, lad."

"Gilles made breakfast. You just chose not to eat it," Baer replied, keeping an eye on Grub who was lumbering his way around. A few other trolls were on the deck as well, transporting equipment either from his orders or Vidhalla's.

"Ha!" Junod snorted as he took another sip from his ale, then tossed the empty metal tankard on the deck without care. "Halfing breakfast? You've gotta be shitting me, lad. I'd sooner eat the bloody lil' fuck than eat that stuff he made."

"It was vegetables and salmon." Baer crossed his arms and leaned back on his left leg. "Have a problem with halflings, or just with Gilles?"

"They talk too much, their food is about as filling as sucking in a wet fart, and they aren't worth a pinch in a fight." The large witcher shifted his weight and peeled himself from the mast. "Basically useless."

"Right," Baer drawled, not wanting to press the matter. Something he'd learned early on when adhering to the crotchety witcher's teachings. "I think I'll go check on Vidhalla. She in the captain's quarters?"

"Aye," Junod replied. "Damned woman took the whole 'being captain' thing quite literally. Figured you were joking at first." The gruff witcher stroked his beard and huffed. "Foolish boy."

Baer raised an eyebrow and licked his lips. He wanted to retort, but he knew it would be fruitless. To argue with the man was to scream into a snowstorm expecting it to stop; except this storm would come brandishing a steel blade. The younger witcher gave a curt nod and walked away, keeping his lips tightly sealed, to ensure no errant quip slipped out.

Walking into the waterlogged wooden door of the captain's quarters, Baer noticed the door partially cracked open. He paused a moment, hearing the sound of stencil tracing across paper rapidly, and then entered in with a measured step to alert the Zerrikanian to his presence. He felt a need to let himself be known, and making a bit of noise by the stomping of his boots was easier than saying something potentially awkward.

At the center of the room lay a large wooden table with chunks missing from the side as if a sledgehammer had cleaved them out. Baer smirked, admiring the troll's handiwork. _Must've been quite the night to bludgeon such a sturdy table. Cap'n's doing no doubt._

Vidhalla stood hunched over the table, an oil lantern lit nearby, and a piece of charcoal in hand with her eyes fervently scanning the wrinkled parchment in front of her. Her hair wasn't done up in the tight braid Baer had seen previously, as now her wavy black locks flowed freely. The sleeves of her mercantile robes were rolled up, exposing the white tattoo depicting a langauge he didn't recognize and scrawlings of some sort of sigil.

The map's contents stretched from Skellige to the tip of the Northern Kingdoms down to the heart of Nilfgaard, and then a few mountains and desert passages all the way to Zerrikania that was marked slightly left of the middle of the map.

"How goes the cartography?" Baer asked, keeping a respectful distance from the tense merchant. Despite her dark complexion, her knuckles were pale as she gripped the edge of the table. "Not every day you see Zerrikania not vaguely mentioned in the East of a map."

"Because scholars are conceited," Vidhalla tersely replied, continuing to glare at the map as if it owed her answers. "Everyone thinks they live at the center. It is how it has been."

"Do you think that?" Baer asked, curiously. "My people are well-renowned map makers and-"

"I'm sure they do. You build boats and use the stars, did you think Skellige was the first?"

"Uh, yes?"

Vidhalla shook her head, and let out a small, measured breath. "It was the Elves. We just stole it from them and improved the design as time went on. Or so they say."

"Right," Baer said. "So, how does navigation go?"

"Considering I have a crew of rock trolls, not much is to be done other than sail East, no?" Vidhalla remarked as she lifted her gaze, her deep brown eyes meeting Baer's catlike ones.

Baer pointed to himself and then the door. "You do have me, Junod, and Gilles."

A small smile graced Vidhalla's lips, then vanished as soon as it appeared. "I know what I said. It's easy to mistake two large witchers for rock trolls, and Gilles watches his back as if wyverns are circling."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Baer offered, resting a hand on the table. "I've got the trolls fishing by net now, but we've only got two. They're entertained for now, but-"

"But you worry they will turn," Vidhalla interjected, finishing the witcher's thought. She nodded thoughtfully, resting a hand underneath her chin. "Will they be a problem for two witchers? That many of them?"

Baer shrugged. "I don't think so. I've fought my share of ogroids more than any other creature, and Junod is a master."

"That is good." Vidhalla rolled up the map and ran a free hand through her slightly tangled mane. "I need air that doesn't smell like troll. Outside we go, yes?"

"Sure," Baer said, straightening his posture and making his way toward the door. He held it open as Vidhalla dimmed the lantern and then made her way out, not giving Baer's gesture a second glance.

 _She walks like she expects me to do that._ Baer frowned and followed her out to the deck, squinting as his mutated eyes quickly adjusted to the midday sunlight. _Perhaps Junod wasn't just being an ass when he warned me about the Zerrikanians. They certainly aren't like the women from the mainland._

Baer looked around the deck, seeing Hork and Gork, two gravelly brutes carrying the nets Baer had given them with some large sea bass inside. The fish looked as if its head had exploded, no doubt from the troll using their expert decision of 'fishy no move, do bonk'. Brutal and messy, yet it got the job done.

Vidhalla looked at the two trolls passing by with an amused expression. "It is interesting to be seeing these creatures like this, yes?" She pointed at Hork, the one Baer recognized because of his extra creasing around his eyebrows and sharply pointed rocky shoulders. "If they were always this-" The merchant bit on her lip for a moment as if to think of the proper word, " _Docile_ , yes? They would make excellent slaves in my homeland."

"Your home has slaves?" Baer asked, now looking toward Hork with a slightly worried expression. While he would probably slay numerous ogroids in his travels, he couldn't help feel a sort of kinship toward the creatures. Their simpleness was almost respectable if it weren't for the fact they thought children and halflings a delicacy.

"Oh, many of them." Vidhalla made a dismissive gesture as she began to circle the deck of the ship. Baer took notice that Junod had left his post, probably evacuating once he heard the Zerrikanian coming up. "The clans employ many of them. Even more in service to the Divine Dragons." she tilted her head. "Some in the cult of Lilit-Niya, not many though."

"That's...a lot of slaves. How do you capture so many?"

"We don't. Many choose."

Baer blinked and pursed his lips. "What do you mean they choose? That doesn't sound right. Slaves are captured and sold, usually illegally."

"Maybe by you Westerners," Vidhalla countered with an amused smile. "But many enjoy the perks of slavery."

"You lost me," Baer deadpanned. "That makes no sense."

"It does. In the clans, they are fed, clothed, and given a place to sleep. It is an exchange. You understand? It is giving one to the clan entirely. Slavery is the only translation we have to your langauge."

"Ah, I get it. I think," Baer slowly replied. "It's some sort of, uh, cultural service thing right?"

"Yes, yes, it is as you say." Vidhalla quickened her pace, checking in on another group of passing trolls; these carrying an anchor. "The others are the Free Warriors. They have no clan. They choose to roam. Seek payment, like you."

"Well…"

The protest died in Baer's throat as he bit the inside of his cheek. She did have a point, and the similarities were there. Granted, he didn't know much himself about his own occupation and genetics, outside what Junod had grunted at him in the past. _Finding Castle Amell should hopefully provide more answers,_ Baer thought as he watched Vidhalla glare at another pair of trolls, Whumba and Urm-perhaps the simplest of the bunch-stack some of the remaining few crates of Vidhalla's wares.

"Nothing else to add, witcher?"

"Uh," Baer coughed into his shoulder, "not particularly. It's odd that you talk to someone like me so plainly."

"Is it?"

"Yes, usually it's all glares," Baer conceded with a small amount of indifference. _Sometimes worse, though I'm not sure if it's worse than how I was ignored before starting The Path._

"You are a mercenary, and have use," Vidhalla flippantly replied, gently adjusting the crates to her liking. "I have little care if you are mutant. You are useful to me, for now."

Baer's brow knitted and his expression became a slight frown. _I'm not sure if I dislike indifference more or the harsh pragmatism. But considering she comes from people who worship dragons…_

"When I said useful," Vidhalla huffed, trying to move the large wooden crate, "I meant for you to help me. Unless my use of this simplistic langauge be much worse than I thought."

"Right. Where are we moving this?" Baer said, crouching down and lifting the large box with a bit of effort in a well-practiced motion. For a monster slayer, he found himself using his old life's skill set more than anything. It was strange how things tended to change yet never truly become different.

"Lower deck." Vidhalla pointed toward the starboard side of the ship. "Storm winds blow, and I want my spices safe."

"Awfully heavy for spices," Baer grunted.

He noticed the lithe merchant plant her hands on her hips from the corner of his vision as he shifted the box up onto his shoulder. "Ah, and do witchers always ask so many questions?" The corner of the Zerrikanian's mouth twitched. "It is a large crate full of spices. Is your curiosity so vast?"

"I suppose not," Baer non committedly replied. It felt as if the crate was filled with rocks by how small tumbling sounds echoed within as he shifted it. He kept his lips tightly closed and nodded. He knew when to not ask questions; a valuable skill learned from his time with Junod during the past couple of winters.

"Good, now move these and don't let the trolls touch them," Vidhalla said, staring off at Junod who had walked out of the underneath of the ship, stretching and swinging his tree trunk-sized arms. "Move quickly, yes? Then go find Gilles. He must ready food for later."

"More fish?"

Vidhalla sighed. "More fish."

* * *

It didn't take Baer much time to find the skittish halfling. The boat was only so large, and Baer knew good hiding spots on a simple ship like this better than most as he grew up scrubbing decks in the harbor of Undvik. Breaks weren't given out often in that line of work, so one quickly learned how to disappear just long enough to not seem suspicious or either get worked to death by crotchety Skellige sailors or snooty foreigners.

Considering he was still standing, and no longer in that line of work, he considered himself one of the fortunate ones. Rather have a quick death at the hands of some beast, than slowly wither away working the docks over several decades to just be forgotten. At least here he felt like someone. Perhaps not the most positive impression, but someone rather than another faceless Skellige boatswain.

"You know, hiding underneath a loose floorboard isn't the best hiding spot," Baer whispered as he peeled back a sodden wood plank, revealing the shivering halfling man. "Plus, it looks awfully cold."

"How did you find me, sir witcher?" Gilles said through chattering teeth.

"You're loud," Baer replied. He gave a small, warm smile as he offered a hand to help Gilles out of the hole. "Plus, a bit of just knowing the obvious hiding spots."

"Felling some sort of aquatic beast no doubt?" Gilles said as he accepted Baer's help, nearly face planting as the witcher misjudged his strength to lift the portly yet diminutive man. Gilles brushed his simple tan pants off, making sure not to touch the chef's knife in his belt loop, and adjusted his neatly woven, square-shaped hat. "You must have quite the grand story!"

 _Unless he considers playing hooky from work 'grand'._ Baer clenched his jaw and maintained a neutral expression. "Perhaps another time."

"Of course, sir witcher. So, what do you need of me? I'm most grateful to help, considering, uh," Gilles made a face as if he'd sucked on a lemon, "it is away from those brutish rock trolls."

"They're not going to eat you," Baer said in his most reassuring tone. Gilles stark white face didn't seem convinced in the slightest.

"Oh, you try believing that when you aren't actively under threat of being chomped down on!" The halfling shivered and closed his eyes as he lowered his voice to a faint whisper. "The monsters don't even use _seasoning!_ Such vulgar behavior."

"I'll be nearby if anything happens. Just try...to act natural."

Gilles huffed out in disapproval. "With all due respect, that's what would get me eaten, sir witcher."

"Then act like...Vidhalla?" Baer offered.

"That- Ah, but that would-" Gilles paused, and scratched at his clean-shaven chin. "Perhaps that would work. That woman has a gaze that could stop a fiend in its tracks."

"Great, then to the kitchen?"

"Eh, what's left of it," Gilles grumbled as he waddled his way past the witcher, puffing his chest out slightly. Baer fought down the temptation to smile and followed the merchant.

The ship creaked as Baer marched up the stairs, making an uneasy glance at some of the patchwork they'd done to the hull. It wasn't professional by any standard with the block use of thick planks and metal spikes that Vidhalla had managed to bargain for with clan Drummond, but it held. For the week-long voyage to Cidaris, he wasn't extremely confident, nor did he think rock trolls would fit onto the lifeboats, let alone swim.

As Baer passed through the tight corridors of the vessel, he stepped into the thoroughly ravaged kitchen. Pots and pans were strewn about and the makeshift oven had a huge dent in the front. Even the table and five wooden stools looked waterlogged and like they had supported a mountain for millennia. The only thing completely intact was a couple of barrels in the corner of the room, which Baer noticed Gilles immediately rushed toward.

The halfling man pried off the lid with some effort, letting the top clatter to the ground. "Ah, thank goodness!" He said, placing a hand over his heart. "They didn't eat all our fish. The damn savages have been hounding me!"

"So that's why you were hiding?"

Gilles grabbed a large salmon and slung it over his shoulder. He ambled his way to the stepping stool, just a large plank, and stepped up to the wooden counter that looked to have gnaw marks on the corners.

_Must've been some kind of party._

"Mister witcher, could you maybe do something about the oven?" Gilles asked as he drew a chef's knife from his belt loop. "If we're to make a salmon stew, we'll need hot water, that dent fixed, and a source of heat."

"Got it. A pail of water, boil out the salt, and fix the oven. On it," Bae rattled off as he began to sift through the wreckage. "You see a bucket or something?"

"Should be one under the table," Gilles said in a distracted tone as he began to skin the salmon. "Just mind the chairs. Rock trolls nearly busted them."

Baer nodded and crouched down, immediately seeing the dented iron bucket. He looked inside and saw...something green. He leaned in close and gave it a whiff, only for him to try not to cough and gag.

 _Yeah, that's definitely something from a rock troll. I don't care if it's used for concoctions or potions. No thank you._ Baer immediately held the bucket out and cast Igni with his free hand, burning out the vitriolic substance with a small jet of flame. Baer smiled as the smell of warm metal superseded the rock troll's remains. _I don't think shooting fire out of my hand will ever get old._

"Did something burn?" Gilles asked aloud as he continued chopping. "Don't try to light that oven yet, I have a technique with some twine and sticks that-"

"I'm a witcher," Baer interjected in an easy tone. "Don't worry about it. Just about to leave. Try not to run off again."

Gilles let out a nervous chuckle. "I'll do my best, sir witcher."

Baer quickly departed, flexing his left hand. The signs still made his hand cramp up a bit, but Igni was becoming easier. He'd managed to get Yrden and Heliotrope down quickly enough, though Aard and Axii still gave him troubles. He remembered how Junod had mocked him when he first tried Heliotrope, and nearly got trampled by a fiend from passing out. Baer reflexively touched over his left pectoral, where he earned a nasty gash scar.

 _Junod nearly died of laughter and alcoholism that night with how much he made fun of me._ Baer shivered as the cool ocean air graced his face, stepping out of the narrow pathway of the ship. _At least I killed the bastard. Also, it makes sense why normal people don't use signs now._

Baer passed by a few rock trolls working on attempting to tie a knot and settled near the pile of rope he ordered to tie off to lifeboats, still tightly coiled. If he wasn't exactly specific, the trolls tended to meander and just gossip between each other with a series of grunts. Hardly different than most Skellige sailors.

He tied off the rope to the hand of the bucket, cinching it into a solid and tight figure-eight knot. _Just need to boil out this water, which shouldn't be too hard._ Baer lowered the bucket into the dark, crystalline waves and watched it sink for a moment before slowly reeling in his catch of the day, keeping the line tight to not tilt the bucket as it slapped against the side of the boat.

A heavy hand slapped down on Baer's shoulder, managing to jolt his posture upright and reach for his blade. "Aye, now I know a thing or two about fishing, lad, and you're not doing it right." Baer relaxed slightly as he maintained the tight grip on the rope. Junod chuckled and walked to Baer's side, leaning against the wooden railing that creaked under the witcher's weight. "So, ya got a bucket. What's this about?"

"Gilles needs fresh water for the meal he's preparing," Baer said, ignoring his mentor's eye-rolling. "Just got to boil some off once I got back into the kitchen."

"You actually took direction from that pipsqueak?"

"I want dinner, so yeah. I did."

Junod hummed thoughtfully. "Aye. That's fair." Junod paused and then slapped Baer on the shoulder, nearly forcing the younger witcher to lose his grip. "Say, why don't we have a lil' spar, you and me? Release the tension."

"It's already quite late," Baer murmured. He grabbed the edge of the bucket and pulled it onto the deck. A little had spilled out, but not bad considering the distraction. "Plus, should we? Usually ends up with me limping for a few days."

"That was before yer mutations. Fuck me, I thought you'd be happier than a clam to take a swing at me!"

"Oh, I wouldn't mind," Baer said, now facing the mammoth witcher. "Just curious is all. Something happen to ruin your drinking?"

Junod turned away, shaking his head. "Fucking Zerrikanian. She saw me rooting around in her barrels. Found some good booze, and she gave me this look," he bristled and let out a hearty grunt, "bad news pissing off a woman like that. She's got fight in her. Something else about her. Makes my damned skin crawl."

"How pissed was she?"

"More than a striga on their fuckin' period."

"So...maybe we don't 'root around' in her belongings?" Baer said.

Junod looked at Baer with a blank expression. He blinked and then his face contorted into anger. "And risk being sober?! You've gots to be kidding me, lad. Keep that up, and you might end up being the funny witcher. Behind me, of course."

Baer raised an eyebrow. "You think you're funny?"

"I trained you, didn't I?" Junod punched Baer playfully on the arm. The young witcher ground his teeth as it stung a bit, as 'gentle' wasn't in the man's vocabulary. "Can't wait til' you get to Amell, lad. The Bear witcher named Baer. The bard's'll be singing my praises, I reckon."

Lifting his chin, Baer glared at the chuckling man. "Thought you said you'd drop that."

"It's still damned funny, lad, and-"

Junod recoiled back as he gripped his side. Baer wrung out his free hand that he had used to deliver a heavy body shot to his mentor. Sometimes simpler means of communication were needed.

"Ha!" Junod laughed, rubbing his ribs. He raised a finger and smirked. "You see there? That's why I'm the funny one. You can't take a joke."

"When the joke is me and my whole career…" Baer picked up the bucket. "I might need that spar after all."

"Atta lad, now that's what I like to-" Junod immediately looked out toward the sea, his thin slitted eyes scanning the dark open waves. Baer looked over but saw nothing. Only the slow methodically rolling waves that kept rhythm with the bobbing of the ship.

"What do-"

"Shut the fuck up," Junod quickly whispered. He tilted his head toward Baer. "You not hear that?"

"Hear what?" Bear squinted his eyes. _Even with better vision and enhanced hearing, it's still dark as can be out there._

"Something out on the water. Splashing with the waves," Junod said in a grave tone. Baer could see the man's stoic face set like a sculpture, running through several possibilities with his decades of experience. "Get everyone in the middle of the vessel."

"Sirens, master?" Baer said. He'd encountered them once before with Junod on Undvik; the screeching sound was one he wouldn't soon forget, if ever.

"Nay, lad. Fishpeople. _Vodyanoy_."

"What are they like?" Baer asked, already reaching for his blade. "Are they like sirens?"

Junod shook his head. "No. They're underwater assholes." He reached inside his waist bandolier, pulling out a thick, brown, oily potion. "Take the Whale, lad. We'll be needing it."

"And the others?"

Junod gave a non-committal shrug. A tenseness took place in Baer's gut and chest as he guzzled down his own vial of Killer Whale. One part from the potion and the other from knowing he was about to be in a sinking ship. It felt like drinking stagnant bacon grease, which by comparison, was much better than most witcher concoctions.

"How much time do we have, and what kind of weapons do they-"

"They're fuckin' fish people, Baer. Use yer fuckin' imagination." Junod drew his silver sword and began to pace about. "They'll come up from over the sides and the bottom-" The vessel convulsed, both witchers crouching their knees to maintain balance. The cries of a few rock trolls sounded out as they fell over. Junod let out a sardonic chuckle. "Best get moving. And remember, If I kill more than you, you buy drinks."

"Really? That's what we're focusing on?"

Junod shrugged. "Gotta keep focus somehow. Now be off with ye. I'd like some space to work."

 _Gilles won't be happy, but it seems fish is still on the menu tonight._ Baer drew his sword, holding it in a reverse grip as he sprinted toward the hatch to the lower levels of the ship. He kicked in the brittle door and raced down the stairs

His heart lumped up inside his throat as he barrelled into the wall as the ship lurched again, and then settled-the floor tilted at a slight angle. The creatures were working quicker than Baer had anticipated. Unsurprisingly, as the young witcher made his way to the kitchen he noticed several fish carcasses on the floor and one of the lids in the corner of the cramped room closing on its own.

"Gilles!" Baer shouted. "Get outta the damn barrel!"

The lid of the barrel popped open, the halfling's nose just barely sticking out. "Oh, I'd much rather stay in here, sir witcher!"

"Get out, damnit," Baer growled in a low and dangerous tone. "We've got fishmen boarding our ship, and you need to get to the lifeboat with Vidhalla. By the way, where is she?"

"Not a clue!" Gilles said as he launched himself out of the barrel in a clumsy fashion, rolling onto the ground. He brushed himself off as the boat began to tilt at a more dramatic angle. "To the deck? Are we bringing those trolls-"

"Move!" Baer roared as he pointed toward the hallway. Gilles' face went white, and he scampered past the towering witcher. Baer watched him rush up the stairs faster than his stubby legs should have allowed. Fear could be one hell of a motivator.

Baer remained vigilant, gripping his longsword tightly as he peeked his head down the hallway. The sound of rushing water and planks snapping grew louder, and Baer bent his knees and readied himself for whatever would come from the cargo hold.

The witchers of the Bear school were never fond of close quarters, preferring wide open areas to accommodate their brutal style. _You know what,_ Baer thought as he slid his longsword back into its sheath and withdrew his boot knife in a fluid, practiced motion. _If I'm going to fight, might as well use something I can actually stab with._

The sound of wet slapping began to echo out from the lower bay, the rushing water sounding closer, and the boat moaning as its body was plundered and twisted apart. Holding his knife steady, Baer saw the first of the horrid sea creatures emerge from the hatch.

Holding an axe, the scaly humanoid stood a bit shorter than Baer himself, with catfish-like whiskers jutting off its face and an elongated neck leading to a maw filled with razor-sharp teeth, topped off with a frilly, membranous head comb. Baer paused to look at the strange mask affixed to the creature's face, complete with two large dark glass circles where he assumed its eyes were. It was otherworldly as the fishman made no vocal sounds, and wasted no movement using its powerful hind legs to propel itself forward, nearly running on the side of the wall.

The fishman was quickly followed by another out of the hatch, and Baer immediately cast Igni down the hall. Only the sounds of flames coming to life and the boat slowly sinking boomed out as the red wave enveloped Baer's sight for that brief instant. The two Vodyanoy were burnt yet not dead, their charred bodies twitching helplessly on the ground with their strange runic weapons dropped. Yet, more emerged from the hatch with each fallen monster being replaced by another attacker.

Baer felt a sharp pain in his hand as he cast Igni once more. And then again as he felt a sharp pain shoot up the nerves in his arm as he fried more Vodyanoy, the bodies piling up upon one another in the hall. The dauntless legion of fishmen seemed unfettered by their fallen comrades, just looking onward with the same identical-looking masks and nimbly running over the corpses of the fallen with a steady and cold bloodlust.

 _I can't keep this up. The hull's flooding and there doesn't seem to be an end._ Baer let loose another bout of Igni, his hand seizing as the incantation finished. _And now I wish I had more time to practice signs!_

Baer took a step back, the floor now almost at a 30-degree angle. He flipped the knife over to his aching left hand and took a moment to go through the motions for Aard. A fishman reared back, ready to strike the frantic witcher as he released the burst of force just as the overhead swing was about to arrive on target.

He rushed out of the sinking hold, bursting through to the topside of the vessel while maintaining his balance. His head whipped around left and right, managing to spot Junod using his large greatsword to its full effect as several dozen fishmen lay dead in various states of dismemberment. Even the rock trolls were helping out by bonking a few fishmen here and there, though the undersea invaders looked to be dragging them overboard.

"Junod!" Baer shouted, dodging a swipe from a charging assailant. He caught the creature by its long, slimy neck and buried his knife into it-little bits of yellowed blood gushing forth. "What do we do!"

"Lifeboat, lad!" Junod swung the sword easily with one hand, even though it was near twice the size of Gilles. "They just want the loot. Let's get the fuck outta 'ere!"

"What about-"

A surging wave crashed into the side of the ship, throwing the young witcher off balance. He dug the knife into the floor of the deck as the ship began to tip over. He couldn't see what happened to Junod, but the man's angry shouts still permeated the air, meaning he was still around trying to kill the invaders.

The sky crackled with sounds of thunder, and the plank Baer had pierced snapped. He flailed his arms as he fell into the roiling, black water below.

Something heavy and blunt struck his head, and his vision grew darker. He clawed at the water, but the suction of the vortex he had found himself in held true. He could feel himself sinking despite his air supply being plentiful. He felt another current surge through the water, spinning him as he fervently scoured the dark fathoms.

Nothing revealed itself, and then another force struck him in the head, mightier than any strike from Junod. His vision snapped shut as the watery maw of the great abyss encompassed him, carrying him off toward the unknown.


	4. Ichor of the Sea

Baer's eyelids snapped open, the sun perched high in the sky making his cheeks feel warm, forcing him to squint. His body felt heavy, damp, and a bit cold. He immediately splayed his arms out, hitting the sides of a small wooden lifeboat.

"So you did wake up."

 _That's Vidhalla,_ Baer thought as he sat up with considerable effort. His lungs felt torn up as if he'd swallowed a gallon of razor blades, and his muscles felt tight and sore. He squinted through the bright sunlight, his mutated eyes adjusting quickly.

The Zerrikanian merchant's hair was messy and matted; her brown robes frayed and torn, but no puncture wounds or slashes from fishmen present. Dark circles rested underneath her hazel eyes and her movements were slow.

"You haven't slept," Baer croaked out. He settled into a more comfortable sitting position, trying his best not to rock the boat too drastically. "How did we escape?"

"Monsters sank the boat," Vidhalla replied. She sounded tired as she looked, her voice wispy and airy, much unlike her hearty and powerful accent. "Managed to escape, through the storm. A bit later I found you floating on the water. Pulled you aboard."

"Of course," Baer murmured, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "I drank Killer Whale before that fight. My lungs must have acted like...buoys." He looked back to his travel companion. "Did you see Gilles or Junod?"

Vidhalla shook her head. "It's been over a day I think. Maybe two. No food or water makes it hard to think."

A painful thirst awoke within Baer's gullet, though it wasn't as Vidhalla described. He could think clearly still, just was able to push aside the hunger pains. The advantages of witcher's more hardy anatomy coming into play.

"How far from Cidaris do you think we are?" Baer asked, looking around the endless expanse of clear blue waters. "Seen any islands or anything?"

Vidhalla gave a small shrug. "No. Last night it was cloudy. No stars."

"Well," Baer stated, licking his salt-encrusted lips, "We'll need to get fresh water and then wait for nightfall before we can try and navigate. As for food," Baer felt for the swords on his back, feeling the silver one missing. His face twisted in frustration as he let out a huff. "Well, I don't think one steel sword is going to help us get any fish. I might be able to cast Axii on any that get near the surface...maybe nab one if I'm quick enough."

"More witcher skills?" Vidhalla watched the rookie witcher with mild curiosity and a relaxed posture.

Baer shrugged. "More like if a sailor had been granted magical powers. I was trained on what to look for if I was ever marooned. Luckily," Baer softly laughed, "while we don't have shit for equipment, I've got basic fire to heat up water and know-how to get us to shore. Hopefully."

"So, we must wait, yes?"

"Water first," Baer said, fumbling with his pouches. He pulled his leather satchel away from his body, tanned and cured from a fiend pelt to protect it from the elements, and he set aside his journal and writing equipment. "We can put water in here, heat it up with Igni and then catch the droplets with some of your robes that are dry."

"Very fine, hand me your knife, yes?" Vidhalla held out her hand expectantly. Baer could hardly blame her with how every movement she made seemed like an immense task, yet he felt just slightly tired. He drew his boot knife, spinning the weapon in his hands so he held the handle out. "Many thanks, witcher."

"Don't thank me, thank the people smarter than me that thought of this," Baer said, scooping up saltwater into the pouch. He looked around for an apparatus and then sighed. "I'll probably have to carve a hole into one of the seats to set the pouch in. I'd rather not burn my hand off."

 _Not to mention if Junod or any other witcher found out I melted my hand with my own Igni sign I'd never live it down,_ Baer thought as he patiently watched Vidhalla carve away at her ornate robes with little shyness. She stripped the entirety of the lower half off, revealing her toned chocolate-colored legs that were adorned with more strange white tattoos of symbols and bands that Baer didn't recognize. _Looks like the same ones on her arms, I wonder what they mean?_

Vidhalla tossed the knife back to Baer, and he quickly used his weight and brute force to stab a hole through the flimsy plank making up his bench. He crouched low, feeling the throbbing ache in his muscles as he forced his gauntleted hand through the opening, making it large enough to support a full pouch of water. The boat wobbled slightly side to side, but it subsided quickly as Baer took long, deep breaths as he centered himself like many times before in his training. Despite being a brutish Bear witcher, balance and leverage were rigorously ingrained into him for any technique to work. It had been months of painstakingly boring meditation and standing in perilously high places in the mountains of Undvik, but it had nearly become natural for Baer.

"Alright, I just need to crouch down and heat up the bag," Baer whispered mostly to himself, walking through the steps long ago in the conversations he had overheard from other veteran sailors. "I'll take the cloth, and put it over. Shouldn't be too long afterward, I think."

"Of course, witcher," Vidhalla replied, her voice coarse and relaxed, though her eyes betrayed her impatience. Her attention was fixated on the pouch full of seawater, and her hands were gripping the edge of her seat tightly.

Baer settled into a rhythm of heating to the bottom of the pouch with small bursts of Igni, careful to not set the boat aflame, and then checking the cloth. _I just need to bring it to a boil._ Baer furrowed his brow and continued to ply his skills; the weird bastardization of being a witcher and sailor coming into a strange discordant harmony.

"So tell me, witcher," Vidhalla mused as she gazed across the calm waters, "are there any other monsters to worry about right now?"

"Not that I can think of," Baer replied, gritting his teeth. His hand was already beginning to cramp from the carefully measured use of Igni. No teacher quite compared to experience and strange applications. "Uh, we should be fine from drowners and sirens. Too far from shore." Baer wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead and continued to shoot a steady stream of heat from his palm. "But, I didn't know about fishmen, or Vodyanoy, so maybe?"

Vidhalla shifted in her seat and wrinkled her nose. " You do know 'maybe' isn't very satisfying, witcher."

"Well, you try joining a profession where you're underqualified by about a century of experience," Baer grunted. He wiped another bead of sweat and wrung out his hand for a moment before continuing. "Trust me when I say that I too am frustrated. Sea monsters aren't exactly covered a whole lot besides the shore creatures, and the mentions of krakens."

"Krakens?"

Baer shook his head. "Big fuck off sea critters. Fleet swallowers. If one shows up, we're fish food. The only good news is that every other monster probably isn't going to show up since we're so far out. 'Cept for maybe ghosts or something." The hair on Baer's neck rose and a shiver went down his spine. "Fucking ghosts."

"You don't like spirits?"

"Spirits? I mean those are fine, I guess. I dunno. Something about a thing being dead still hanging around just doesn't sit right with me." Baer removed the wet cloth from the seat and passed it to Vidhalla. "Wring it out, and drink. I can do as many rounds until my hand stops working."

"Are you injured?" Vidhalla said in between gasps as she sucked in the clean water greedily. "Still slightly salty. Not much though."

"Probably just from being around the water, considering you weren't dunked like me," Baer said. "And I'm not injured, just...well I'm still new to this. Growing pains I guess, so my hand cramps up and won't move."

"Ah, then let me know when you are unable to continue, and I may have a helpful thing for you," Vidhalla offered as he handed back the emptied cloth.

Baer nodded and repeated the process of refilling the pouch and applying Igni to the bottom. The pouch had become blackened and charred, though it held true. He'd have to think of a more creative story as to why only his pouch got burned. While helpful, it wasn't bound to amass respect for the young witcher from peasants and nobles alike wanting fanciful tales of heroics and bravery.

The repetitive motion of casting, to filling the pouch, and then draining the tepid cloth of the grimy water wore on Baer after several rounds. Finishing the last round, he could barely make a fist with his hand as it twitched and seized in random spurts. He went to bury his hand in his lap, but Vidhalla gestured toward the witcher's erratic limb in an expectant manner.

"Do not hide it," the Zerrikanian said in a warm, melodious voice. Her eyes seemed brighter and more attentive now, and her movement not so sluggish as if moving through molasses. "Do you shy away when having done a good job?"

Baer set his jaw and glanced at her open palm. _Witchers aren't supposed to be coddled_ , _let alone seen as weak._ Another wave of electric stinging flooded from his wrist to his fingertips, managing to get a faint hiss out of him. He relented, removing the padding around his sweaty hand, leaving it bare to the ocean breeze. _Fine, have it your way, damned body._

"There we are," Vidhalla said, as she began to use her thumbs to massage at the spasming muscles. She hummed quietly under her breath as she looked at it without judgment or disgust, which managed to get Baer to relax his shoulders and posture as the care did feel pleasant.

"That's, uh, actually feels pretty good," Baer sheepishly said aloud, trying not to make a face as he felt her long, deft fingers work out the kinks in his hand. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Back home, when we were young and trained for roles. We'd be sore and broken from our trials, and we had to care for ourselves." Vidhalla pressed harder into Baer's slightly calloused palm, digging the knuckle of her thumb in to smooth out the muscle. "You shouldn't be ashamed. Everyone works. Everyone struggles. You are not so different."

"You say that to a witcher?" Baer asked, trying to keep his volume under control. "I'm not sure how things are in Zerrikania, but-"

"Yes, you _aren't_ sure," Vidhalla affirmed, pressing a bit harder into Baer's hand, managing to get another hiss out of him. "Easterners have much audacity. You like your women like cattle and your men like tools. It is backward."

 _Says the lady who worships flying lizards,_ Baer thought. The tension was slowly leaving his hand, and it did feel better as she continued to knead at the rough flesh. _I should be thankful though, casting signs has hurt quite a bit lately. No wonder folk practice for years before getting 'em down._

"Thank you, by the way," Baer said quietly. "It's...helpful of you."

"Yes, you are useful and I'd be dead without your aid." Vidhalla let go of Baer's hand, and an immediate coolness from the ocean's breeze replaced the soothing warmth and comfort he found himself now longing for. She folded her hands neatly into her lap, interlacing her fingers. "Be sure to take care of yourself, and not think less of others. It is a dangerous thing."

"I wasn't thinking that," Baer grumbled.

Vidhalla's eyes gleamed with smug energy. "I know you were. I'm a merchant and it is my job to notice what people think without saying. Especially when there is langauge barrier." She nodded at the witcher, and gave him a faint smile. "I see that you are new, but we are all new at one time. Have pride, but do not, uh," she scrunched her face, mouthing out a series of words Baer didn't recognize, "shirk? Yes, do not shirk aid. Even dragons must come to roost."

"Some kind of Zerrikanian proverb?"

"Something like that, yes."

Baer leaned back as far the lifeboat would allow without tipping. "I think I get it," he said thoughtfully. "Thanks. You uh, got any other good sayings and stuff I could know? It won't be dark for a while."

"Of course, witcher. But I require payment. A trade." Vidhalla lifted her hands as if mimicking the effects of a merchant's scale. "Story for a story. Fair?"

"Sure, but I think your stories of a land filled with dragons and warriors of renown are much more interesting than mine."

"You are deceived," Vidhalla replied in a stern tone. "Where I come from, we only have stories of dragons and warriors. Tell me something else."

"Well," Baer shifted in his seat and rubbed at his chin, "so there was this ship…"

* * *

"I actually see a port."

Baer felt shocked, relieved, and a bit unsure. He'd been at sea in a dingy for almost three days with Vidhalla; boiling water with Igni and eventually using Axii on salmon foolish enough to swim near the surface. He didn't feel well taken care of, as sleeping in shifts was optimal due to the erratic nature of the waves and just for the sake of space. It was one of the few times Baer felt jealous of someone like Gilles' stature.

 _Still, we saw no sign of the halfling or my master while drifting toward the shore,_ Baer mused as he paddled with the single wooden oar toward the bustling port. He squinted his cat-like eyes through the morning mist, getting a gist of the general layout and shape of the area. _I've docked in Cidaris before, and that certainly isn't it. We must've drifted farther South than we'd assumed._

The witcher nudged the sleeping merchant with his boot, earning a throaty groan in response. He did it once more, and finally, she began to move.

"Wake up, we're near the port," Baer said, continuing to paddle. He hardly felt tired thanks to his mutations, but also the practiced motion from several years at sea didn't hurt. "It looks like my navigation was a bit spotty."

"How far?" Vidhalla yawned, stretching her arms out. "Where are we?"

"Maybe Hamm?" Baer said aloud, unsure. "Certainly not Nastrog, not fortified enough. No huge outer walls. I'm guessing it's some port town in Verden, or this is some Cintran port I've never seen."

"Never been to Cintra?" Vidhalla asked with a hint of curiosity.

Baer shrugged. "Only once. Besides that, most of the ports I docked in were in Redania or Temeria. A few times to Poviss and Cidaris, but never really South that much."

"Whatever it is, take us to the beach," Vidhalla demanded. "I've grown sick of sailing."

 _Yeah, that's fair._ Baer began to paddle at a more fervent rate toward the shore right outside the town limits. _Need to get a new silver sword and figure out how to earn some coin._

"So, what's the plan?" Baer asked. "I know we've got to get to Amell, and through there we can get to Zerrikania, right? I'll also need a place to find a silver sword."

Vidhalla straightened out her robes, frowning at her torn attire. "Yes, we will get you another sword. I know many other merchants; one set in Brugge is Zerrikanian. They have the best steel."

A smile tugged at the corner of Baer's mouth. "Doesn't everyone think they have the best swords? I thought the Dwarves in Mahakam made the best weapons."

"Are their swords tempered in dragon fire?" Vidhalla quipped with an indignant huff. "I do not boast. It is the best because it is."

Baer tilted his head and gave the merchant a confused look. "Weren't you the one that said most people think they've got the best of whatever they do or make?"

"This is exception." Vidhalla looked away, dismissively waving off Baer's concern. "I've seen many swords. Most are heavy blocks of iron. Zerrikanian swords though? They sing when swung."

"Really? I'm sure they're fine blades, but we'll see."

Vidhalla nodded. "Indeed, you will see."

Baer paddled the boat to shore with ease; helping Vidhalla dismount from the pathetically beat-up vessel. The witcher stepped onto shore with a stiffness in his gait as he immediately rotated his hips and stretched out his legs. The sailing had been cramped and land had never felt better under his heavy boots.

Past the craggy beach, the small port city of Hamm lay just within sight through the surrounding trees and shrubbery. No great walls or fortifications surrounded the simple fishing hamlet, with the only thing of note near the entrance being a large oak arbor with laurels dangling off the sides.

"I shall see about talking with a guild here," Vidhalla said, pulling Baer's attention away from his stretching. "What shall you do, witcher?"

Baer shrugged. "Not much in the way of coin, so I figure I'll look for a contract. See if anything is posted. Meet at the local tavern by sundown?"

"That sounds fine." Vidhalla plopped onto her butt and stretched out her limbs. "I shall take a moment to relax. I will be seeing you witcher."

Baer let out a throaty grunt, acknowledging Vidhalla's adamant decision to sit on the beach and watch the sea. She folded her legs up underneath her thighs and rested her hands on the coarse sand, gently tilting her head side to side-tossing her gnarled black hair.

 _Relax? Isn't that what we were doing the past few days?_ Baer thought as he turned and began marching up the sandy bank and through the thick underbrush. _Maybe she just needs a break from me. Granted, I don't think I'm that bad of company. Certainly can't be worse than Junod…_

Taking his time to walk slow, warming up his joints, Baer made his way to the dirt-caked main road. He made it to the entryway unabated by any patrolling guards or suspicious peasants, and walked into the village, scanning the main strip for any signs of a notice board. Skellige had them frequently for odd jobs, and Junod said it was the easiest way to get one.

The town was rife with energy and bustle as people ran carts full of fish and tannery, but nobody made eye contact with the towering witcher who stood nearly a full head above most the rabble. Everyone kept their noses down, focused on their work, ignoring the young witcher as if he were some giant ghast carving a path to the heart of their abode. Baer noticed that the people he did pass moved just a bit quicker in passing, only to slow down into a more reasonable and paced working rhythm.

_Not too surprised. Skellige's folk would at least look at me since it was home. Here they pretend I don't even exist._

Baer made his way to the docks before settling his attention on a large, rough-hewn wooden board with various pieces of parchment tacked on. Nobody else was reading, so he stepped up and began to read over the scrawled notes.

"What the fuck," Baer grumbled as he squinted his eyes. It didn't improve his sight, though it felt right for how his brow twitched with irritation. He tore a page off the board and read it more closely, mouthing out the words just in case his eyes were betraying him. "This is…" He looked around behind him; some villagers pushing carts that were observing immediately averted their gaze from the witcher's bitter expression.

He crumpled the paper in his hand and let it drop to the ground. _Damned bards and their ridiculous requests. Who would even do that? Don't children read this board?_

The witcher tried his best to eject the lunacy of frolicking dryads, a salty sea captain, and a Zerrikanian warrior woman all doing that. It was hardly noon, yet Baer felt a wave of exhaustion rush through his mind as he picked up another, tasteless request from the same bard, 'Ego the Magnificent'. He tore that one away too, now focused on looking for a contract to see if anybody had put out a bounty on the controversial entertainer.

Baer smiled. To his luck, there were several.

 _The money with all the bounties combined is quite reasonable, and he's been at it for a while,_ Baer mused as he compared different dates on the parchment. _Might bring in a reasonable sum to get a horse and lodging. Granted, it's not monster slaying, but isn't witcher work just really specific community service? Plus, something is off about how long and frequent these contracts have been active. Why haven't the guard acted?_

He took the most recent bounty posting, just two days old, and set out for the contractor. It was a man by the name of 'Rolf' and said to meet by the lighthouse just off the north shore. Stuffing the contract into his seared traveling pouch, Baer hurried off to meet the man that seemed to have a bone to pick with the antics of the mysterious bard.


End file.
